Happy Families
by girlstarfish
Summary: [AU character spoiler for episode 50] When Hughes suggested investigating a murder to help Roy get over his ex-girlfriend, neither of them had any idea what they were getting in to.
1. Default Chapter

It would be a lie to say Roy was expecting the phonecall, but then again, you couldn't really say it was unexpected either. The clock over the fireplace of the retired Colonel's London apartment had just struck half eleven, and Roy toasted it with a bitter -- and not entirely steady -- salute.

"Here's to women!" he proclaimed. "Here's to their beauty, their pretty lies and their much-vaunted fidelity!"

The phone rang just as he threw back the drink so he choked, grabbing the receiver as he spluttered for breath.

"Mustang here--"

"Hard breaks, old chap," a familiar voice drawled on the other end of the phone. "Still, Josephine was never the right woman for you."

"Hughes," Roy was not at all surprised to find his friend on the other end of the phone. "You already knew?"

"I could see it coming," his friend confessed. "Believe me, you're better off well out of it."

Roy held up his port glass to the light. Half full, when you looked through it you could see a kinder world, blurred around the edges and gently rose tinted . . . a world he wanted to be in, a world where lovers didn't cheat and a promise was a promise . . . "Is there a reason for this phonecall Maes?"

"I'm stopping you from drinking yourself into oblivion, am I?" Hughes guessed with uncanny precision. "She's not worth it, Roy. Put the vodka away and go to bed. You'll thank yourself for it in the morning."

"It's not vodka," Roy answered mutinously. So, it was childish, but Hughes needed taking down a peg and Roy wasn't that easily predictable. "It's port."

"Port," Hughes repeated slowly. "What, not your grandfather's best?"

"The same." Even though Hughes on the other end of the phoneline could not possibly see him, Roy saluted him with the half empty bottle. Or was that half full? Either way, the port that was practically an heirloom was rapidly disappearing.

"Your grandfather's port," Hughes repeated slowly. "I had no idea you were that serious about her. I'm sorry, Roy."

The honesty and the understanding in his friend's reply was enough to cut through Roy's pleasantly drunk haze. "Maes--"

"Chin up, old man," Hughes assured him. "Somewhere out there's the right woman for you. You'll know her when you find her."

"Easy for you to say." Either it was late, or the drink had worn him down enough that the bitterness was audible in his tone. "Look at you, happily married and with a kid -- and look at me. Leading the merry life of a bachelor. Ha!"

"I think," Hughes said carefully, "that it is a very good thing I rang you when I did. Now, listen up, Mustang." He'd suddenly adopted the crisp tones he'd used in their army days and Roy found himself straightening unconsciously through sheer habit. "Put the port away and go to bed. I'm sending a car round to collect you at 8:30. We'll meet at the station, and take the 9:15 Express."

"Where are we going?"

"Lincolnshire. The country will do you some good, I think. I've an invitation from some friends of Doctor Marcoh's -- he'll be there too. We can catch up on old times, maybe get a spot of fishing in or whatever it is they do in the countryside. You've probably heard of the owner of the house; Professor Elric?"

"One of Marcoh's scientific crowd, isn't he? I think I remember seeing his name in the paper a while back. Something about molecules--"

"Atoms, Roy. They're called atoms. Professor Elric is the leading scientist in this field--"

"Going to the country is dull enough without adding scientists to the mix," Roy complained, leaning back in the velvet upholstered easy chair that stood near the fireplace. Balancing the phone receiver with his shoulder he poured himself another glass. "I don't see why you don't just take Gracia and make it a romantic little getaway for yourselves --"

"Ah, but you're much better with a revolver than Gracia."

It was the second time this evening that Hughes had caused Roy to choke on his drink. "I beg your pardon?"

"I was going to tell you to bring your revolver. Possibly the air gun as well -- I don't anticipate we'll need something with that much distance but you never know."

"But--why? Correct me if I'm wrong, Maes, but Lincolnshire is not an area generally known for its hunting --"

"Or at least not for deer or game hunting."

Roy set his glass aside, interested now. Something in his friend's tone -- "What's this about then?"

"Now you sound like the Mustang I know," Hughes approved. "Murder, Roy. We're hunting a murderer."

--oOo--

Hughes had secured a private carriage. He took one side of it, stretching out along the entire bench, leafing through a newspaper. He was enjoying this, flipping through the papers in search of --

Well, Roy could only guess what his goal was. Hughes could be damnably secretive when he chose, and he certainly chose so now -- not one word of the murderer they were supposed to find, or even of the murder itself had crossed Hughes' lips. He was doing it on purpose. Roy would have done better to stay in London, tempting as the promise of a bit of action had been--

"Ah-hah! Here it is!" Hughes straightened up. "It was a stroke of luck finding this -- not many libraries hang onto newspapers three years old."

"Amazing." Roy was feeling irritable. The early morning wake-up and the headache that was the product of his activities the night before had not combined well.

Hughes ignored him. "Woman's death ruled as accident: Grieving family requests privacy." He proceeded to read aloud the bits of the following article. "Trisha Elric, 34, wife of noted scientist Professor Hohenheim Elric, formerly of Rizenburg, Germany -- sorely missed by friends and family. Death was caused by accident -- found with her neck broken by a friend of the family in the early hours of the morning -- presumed she fell from the top of the stairs. No history of sleep-walking or restlessness, prompted concern among neighbours . . . question of suicide. No evidence of premeditated nature of death --jury ruled in favour of accidental death." Hughes folded the paper and handed it over to myself. "There you have it."

"This is the victim then?"

"If she was murdered. That's what we're here to find out."

Roy snorted, glancing down at the article. There was a photo next to it, a family portrait of the fashionably sentimental kind. It had been trimmed to focus solely on Mrs. Elric, but husband and sons were visible around her. She looked happy, a sweet smile on her face. The sort of woman who was born to be wife and mother -- "She doesn't look like the sort of person to ever be murdered."

"No," Hughes said and his tone was sharp. "That's the thing -- by all accounts she was an ordinary woman, not a very smart or outstanding one . . . but definitely one that did not get murdered. If she was beautiful, if she was cruel or jealous, then one might understand but she seemed to be a quiet woman, devoted to her sons, and tolerant of her husband's eccentricities."

"She was English, then? Not from Germany?"

"No, she was English all right. Her family was from the Midlands. She was staying with friends of her parents and Hohenheim was invited to stay and --" Hughes shrugged. "To cut a long story short, they had two sons, a country house in Lincolnshire and by all accounts a happy and stable marriage. This worries me."

Roy glanced up at his friend, raising an eyebrow. "Surely you more than anyone else would claim that being happy in marriage is not such an impossibility?"

"Ah, Roy, a single man such as yourself has no understanding of what it is like to be wedded. My beautiful Gracia -- But that's not the point."

Roy let go of Hughes's collar. "And the point is?"

Hughes leant back, looking not at Roy but at something beyond him. "The point," he said slowly. "Is that if Marcoh is right, and there is something in her death . . . we're looking for someone who killed a woman, defenceless and entirely innocent, in cold blood. I won't say that one kind of murder is better than another but this . . . No one had reason to hate her. No one benefited financially from her death. That kind of killer . . . " He looked at me, his eyes focusing again. "You see why we have to act?"

"When you put it that way--" Roy conceeded. "But it does seem improbable. You promised me a murderer, but are you so sure that it was no accident?"

Hughes was wearing the 'I know something that you don't' smile. Roy sighed.

"Do I have to guess or just spend the rest of the train ride listening to you drop hints?"

"I told you that you'd regret the port in the morning." Hughes pulled a letter out of this jacket pocket.

Two letters actually, Roy realised, as Hughes spread them out. One of them was written on good quality paper with what looked like a fountain pen, the neat and elegant lilt of the handwriting speaking of a good education and a tidy personality. The other resembled nothing so much as a childish scrawl.

"I got this letter a few weeks ago from Marcoh. He said that he'd been working closely on a project that had finally been completed. Hohenheim was his partner in this, planning the experiments and researching the theory from Lincolnshire while Marcoh oversaw the development in the labs here in London. Professor Elric came down to London to oversee the experiments, and invited Marcoh to stay with him to discuss their findings. Marcoh writes that this was the first time that he'd been back to Lincolnshire since Trisha's death -- he was staying with the family when it took place. At the time he'd had no reason to suspect that her death was anything but a tragic accident but now . . . He asked me to come down and investigate, put his mind at rest as it were."

"He knows something then?"

"He suspects. He doesn't tell me more -- but then Marcoh's a scientist. He's not the type to allow his own perceptions to interfere with the experiment."

"And we're the experiment? I don't know if I like the sound of that."

"Where's your courage? Besides, I don't know if we're the experiment so much as the control group if you will -- the litmus paper to his suspicions."

Roy had to snort at Hughes's declaration. "And here I'd thought your analogies couldn't get anymore overblown."

Hughes shook his head sadly. "My good man, you simply have no feel for the dramatic. You need to cultivate an appreciation for the arts--"

"So Marcoh wants us to tell him if he's imagining things," Roy cut him off. "I can see that as not the sort of thing he would do lightly, but even so . . . he's not the sort of person to keep quiet if he thinks something isn't right. The fact that he's unsure -- well, doesn't that suggest that this business is just an accident?"

"Marcoh doesn't know about this." Hughes pushed the other letter across the table. "Take a look."

The edge of the paper was slightly ripped; obviously it had been torn from the notebook it was written on hurriedly. The note likewise seemed to have been written in haste, the letters large and school-bookish.

"Marcoh says that you solved a crime in Suffolk that no one else could and that you have a way of ferreting out secrets like no one's business. We've got too many secrets here. Everyone's afraid . . . this entire family has gone mad. Please, you must find out who killed Trisha. If you don't--"

Roy turned the page over but was not surprised to find there was nothing on the back. "Well."

"Interesting, wouldn't you say?" Hughes was smirking slightly, pleased with the reaction the letter had provoked.

Roy refused to be drawn. "Nicely dramatic," he replied. "If a little cliche for my tastes. It's all rather puerile -- Though the use of 'Trisha' would suggest--"

"Close friend or family member?" Hughes shrugged, leaning back against the trainseat and letting his feet rest on the seat. "Or more specifically husband -- from what Marco has told me of Hohenheim I have to say this seems remarkably out of character for him. And they're obviously familiar with Marcoh if they've dropped his title."

"Then again, aren't anonymous letters supposed to be out of character? Whoever wrote this didn't wish to be recognised."

"Mmm."

Roy knew that reaction well. Hughes was busy plotting something. "I suppose you're going to announce the culprit on the basis of the paper being less than standard quality? I suppose the colour of the ink also plays an important role in this mystery."

"Roy --" Hughes sighed dramatically. "People writing anonymous letters making accusations of murder are usually not murderers themselves. And all that can be deduced from this letter is that the writer had a good education and wrote this on the sort of notebook bought in bulk and favoured by scientists."

The former Army Colonel stared, then reached across to snatch the letter. He turned it over in his hands, searching for any clue but -- "Damnit, Maes. I don't see it."

"Of course you don't, old boy. It takes a trained eye."

Roy looked at him.

". . . although this did help," Hughes drew another letter from his jacket pocket.

The handwriting was precise, sharp and angular, and the language of the letter similarly correct and free of unnecessary ornamentation. It stated quite simply, that at the behest of Dr. Marcoh, it would please Professor Elric and his family if Hughes and a friend would join them for a weekend of quiet entertainment, and was signed by the distinguished man himself.

There was absolutely no similarity between it and the rushed scrawl of the anonymous letter -- except for the paper.

"It could have been taken from the same notepad."

"Quite likely was." Hughes gathered all the letters and tucked them back inside his jacket pocket. "You realise the implications, of course? The family are the ones who will be least likely to make something like this up -- and they're also the most likely to know what really happened."


	2. Arrival in Lincolnshire

Author note:

Hey! I hope you'll forgive this brief intrusion. I just wanted to say hi and thank you to the people who've reviewed so far -- people who it seems have already been following this fic on other sites. I'm so happy that you're enjoying it enough to read it here as well and I'm sorry it's taken me so long to post it here. I hesitated for a while as to whether or not this fic would fit this site's boundaries, and which rating was appropriate. No one's told me off so far for using the PG13 rating, so fingers crossed I got it right -- any thoughts on this would be appreciated. I just posted the eighth chapter of Happy Families in my livejournal today, and aim to post a chapter a day here until I'm up to date. Also, hime1999 has produced some amazingly lovely artwork to go along with this story. You can find her on livejournal or deviant art.

I'm trying to keep this short, so I'll just say once more thank you for reading this story, and I'm sorry if you've been kept waiting for chapters. Since you've all taken time out of your lives to review and offer me encouragement, I thought it was important for me to let you know what stage I'm at with this story, and say thank you. So, thank you! And now, on with the story:

2.

Little River, Lincolnshire, appeared to be all that could be expected of a country town. It consisted of a train station, a row of shops, some of which had seen better days, a stolid country pub that doubled as an inn and a cluster of houses. There was a car waiting with a briskly efficient chauffeur to take them to the Elric house, a short distance out of the town.

The chauffeur was capable and business-like and introduced herself as Ross. Something about her seemed familiar, and Roy was trying to put his finger on it until Hughes leaned over the passenger seat and asked "What unit?"

"Transport and Supplies, Division 12," Ross answered crisply, not missing a beat. "I'd have known you two were military even without the titles." She smiled and Roy caught a glimpse of a wry grin in the rear view mirror. "Driving ranked officers around like a personal taxi service -- this really takes me back, sir."

Not his type -- efficiency in a relationship was always off putting. A woman like that would send you a memo letting you know what days were suitable for marriage proposals. Definitely unconducive to romance. Still, Roy found himself approving of Ross's no-nonsense attitude and skillful handling of the vehicle.

"Must have been hard finding this job?" he asked. "I can't imagine there'd be much openings of this sort for women."

"That's an understatement. I've lost track of how many times I've been turned down in favour of a man -- you'd think the government would offer something, with the way they recruited and used women in the war, but no. It's all 'we only offer jobs to returned servicemen -- a woman will be supported by her husband but a man needs to work.'" She frowned at the road ahead. "There's no earthly reason a woman shouldn't be allowed to work if she sees fit. I'm a good driver too, more than equal to a man."

"You were lucky with your employer then," Hughes stated casually. "But then I suppose it's not that unusual for a revolutionary scientist to be revolutionary in other respects as well."

To Roy's surprise, Ross laughed. "Professor Elric? Hardly. He's not in favour of equal rights for women. I'm willing to bet a month's paycheck that he's never even considered the matter. No, the Professor doesn't see anything that's not related to his work."

"Well then how--"

"Very simply, I was the candidate with the best qualifications. It wouldn't matter if I was male, female, a talking baboon; as long as I got the job done in an efficient manner, the Professor could care less."

Roy smiled at the analogy but didn't have time to comment; they were pulling up in front of a grand country manor house. Obviously a Georgian relic; the house was set at the end of a long driveway, framed by two rows of crisp birch trees.

"The manorhouse," Ross announced, parking neatly in front of the row of steps that led up to the grand front door. "Don't worry about your bags, I'll bring them in later."

A giant was waiting for them at the top of the stairs; or at least that was Roy's first impression. Upon reaching the doorway however, it became apparent that the person waiting was merely the Elric's butler.

"You must be Colonel Mustang and Brigadier Hughes," the man greeted them. He had a surly expression on his face, and there was something slightly . . . Slavic about his appearance? Foreign? Still, Hohenheim himself was German, so that shouldn't be a surprise. "I'm Curtis, Professor Elric's butler. If you'll follow me, I'll take you to the sitting room."

Not the most welcoming of manners . . . still, any house with Mr. Curtis in it was bound to be secure if only because of the sheer size of the man. He looked like he would be much more at home in a boxing ring than the uniform of a butler. The hugely muscled man looked extremely out of place among the assorted Victorian knick-nacks that decorated the house, and Roy found himself catching his breath once or twice as the great arms passed dangerously close to a vase or cabinet as Curtis guided them down a corridor.

"The sitting room," he announced, opening the door carefully.

It was a polished room, with something of the air of a museum piece. The furniture was arranged comfortably and with taste but it lacked a certain something -- the pleasant disorder of a home, perhaps? Not that Roy's bachelor pad gave him any experience in that respect.

"I'm afraid that Professor Elric is caught up in some research and cannot meet you at present," Curtis explained. "He wishes that you would make yourselves at home and he'll meet you at dinner. I'll let everyone know that you're here."

"Chatty, isn't he?" Hughes observed as Curtis disappeared. "Definitely not butler material."

"Maybe he has other uses," Roy suggested, making use of the easy chairs. "And I imagine he gets the job done."

"If you say so," Hughes helped himself to the other armchair. An easy table was set beside it with a tray of glasses and a bottle of whine. "Our host certainly doesn't stint on home comforts. This is authentic Rhinish wine -- look at the vintage!"

"A taste of home?"

"A pricey taste if it is --" The door opened suddenly and both men stood hastily as the giant of a butler ushered in a slip of a boy -- young man, Roy corrected himself hastily. Anyone would look minute compared to Curtis.

"Brigadier Hughes, Colonel Mustang?" The boy -- young man -- held out his hand. He had a confidence in his manner that indicated he was well used to greeting people. "Welcome to Lincolnshire."

He was definitely striking; eyes almost golden and fair hair that would be the envy of any girl gathered in a short plait down his back. Like the prince in a fairy-tale -- It would have to be a German tale, Swan Lake perhaps, Roy decided, taking the hand offered. "It was very good of Professor Elric to extend his invitation to two old friends of Doctor Marcoh. I'm Roy Mustang, formerly of the East Division, and my companion --"

"Brigadier Maes Hughes of the Central Intelligence Office. Your reputation has preceeded you, sir." Their young host offered his hand politely but there was a note of challenge -- or was that wariness in his voice? "I'm Edward Elric, at your service."

"A pleasure." Hughes was at his charming best. Roy wished him luck. He could charm and work adults to his will, but he'd always found children daunting. And this child -- adult like manner, set within a face still youthfully round, but somehow too old for its owner -- Roy shook himself sternly. This is an investigation, he told himself sternly. There's no room for fancies . . .

"We seem to have arrived at a bad moment," Hughes apologised. "I hope we're not too disruptive."

"Father's always busy," Edward said, pouring them both glasses of the wine. "There's no time you could have arrived that he wouldn't be. Although," he paused to cork the wine bottle. "One wonders why you came at all."

Now that was definite challenge.

"There's no mystery in that," Hughes answered, taking the offered wine glass. "Marcoh was good enough to invite us--"

"He's never invited anyone here before," Edward argued. "Not once. Why now -- and why of all people does he ask someone famous as an amateur detective?"

Hughes shrugged airily. "I hate to speak well of myself," he said, "but as I'm sure Mustang will confirm, I have no small talents as a story teller and my after dinner conversation is said to be quite amusing--"

Roy snorted, taking the remaining wine glass from Edward before he could be tempted to say something. It was rather entertaining, watching his friend be interrogated by this unreal character.

Edward eyed Hughes squarely and then shook his head. "No. I don't think so. Marcoh doesn't like his after dinner conversation to be witty and entertaining. He likes to mull over the day's events and perhaps play cards. I ask again, Brigadier Hughes; why are you here?"

"Surely it's not against the law to pay a visit to an old friend --" Roy started but Hughes held up a hand to stop him.

"You're an intelligent boy, Edward. Very perceptive."

"I'm fifteen. I'm not a child."

"So I see. Very well then, Mr. Elric. This is why we're here." Hughes very gravely drew the letter from his jacket pocket and handed it to him with a solemnity that made Roy want to roll his eyes -- dramatic sense indeed! He wasn't sure what his friend was playing at but taking a any child into their confidence, even this child was surely a mistake. He braced himself for the inevitable outrage.

It never came.

Edward appeared concerned, but not surprised. He read the letter through twice and then folded it decisively. "I should have expected something like this."

"You're not surprised then?" Hughes was alert, watching Edward closely for any reaction. Roy had to admit he himself was puzzled. This was hardly the reception he'd expected. He was impressed despite himself as Edward handed the letter back to Hughes with all apparent calm.

"I wish I could say I was," he answered slowly. "Al -- that's Alphonse, my brother -- has never really managed to reconcile himself to our mother's death. I can't blame him. It's not easy, especially with that woman here." A touch of bitterness marred his calm for a moment then was gone. "I'm sorry that you've wasted your time. There is nothing to investigate here."

"That woman?" Hughes wondered but Roy found himself interrupting.

"That's the only reaction you have to the suggestion your mother was murdered?" he asked. "I'm sorry you've wasted your time?" A cruel question to ask a child but somehow Edward was not very childlike.

He certainly rose to the question like an adult. "My reactions," he said, looking hard at Mustang, "are no one's business but my own. I will say this much however; that there is no question of my mother's death being anything but accidental, and that, gentlemen, is a fact."

This statement was punctuated by the sitting room door flying open.

"Brother! You haven't finished your Latin yet --" The sudden arrival halted in the doorway, an expression of comical surprise on his face. This was clearly Alphonse. Although he was nearly the same height as his brother, he was clearly the younger -- his face was young, if seriously inclined, and lacked the intensity of his older sibling. At the moment his face was alight with excitement and fixed on Hughes. "Are you really --"

"Colonel Mustang and Brigadier Hughes, Al." Edward elbowed his brother in the ribs. "Say how'd you do."

Alphonse held out his hand to Hughes eagerly. "I'm really glad you're here! I've been waiting for your visit --"

"I can see that." Instead of answering Alphonse's hand shake, Hughes struck a thoughtful pose. "You've been wondering what I'll make of the letter you sent me, have you not?"

Alphonse's face was so full of awe, Roy found it was hard not to laugh. "How did you know?" he asked as Hughes preened. "You really are as clever as they say -- if anyone can help us, it will be you!"

"Al!"

Edward was clearly unimpressed. "That's enough. You won't trouble the gentleman with this nonsense."

"It's not nonsense!" Alphonse argued immediately and hotly, turning to glare at his brother. "Brother, why won't you believe me --"

"Because I know it's impossible, Al. There's absolutely no way --" Edward broke off sharply as the door opened once again.

A young girl in a black and white maid's uniform curtisied, holding the door open for a regal looking woman, clad in furs, exspensive velvet and heavy perfume. She was by no stretch of the imagination a woman in her youth, or even second youth -- a lady in what was politely termed her prime. She had a distinct brow and elegant features and you could see that in her youth she would have been a magnetic, attractive woman. Even now the force of her personality made itself known.

Roy found himself standing to attention automatically; the two Elric brothers immediately fell into sullen silence.

"I thought I heard an argument," the extraordinary woman remarked. "Don't tell me it was the two of you? And here I was given to believe that there was absolutely no subject that could come between you."

Edward answered politely. "It was nothing. We were entertaining our guests. Colonel Mustang, Brigadier Hughes? This is Lady Dante."

No further introduction was necessary.

Roy was naturally fluent with all circles of London society; but even if he hadn't been it would have been hard to miss someone of Dante's notoriety. She was infamous throughout London society for a number of reasons, among which was her reputation for being a woman of revolutionary principles. She disdained society's dictates, argued against marriage and held views on religion that were frankly scandalous. Not that the Lady was any stranger to scandal, of course; not only had she divorced her last husband but it widely rumoured that her son was born out of wedlock. Then there was the not so little matter of the Lady's past.

There had been many refugees to come to live in England after the war, and many of them desired to start anew, making a total break from their old lives. But even these came with their name and some history -- not Lady Dante. The only name she ever used was Dante, and she had openly admitted it was not her real name. She had wealth; that was enough for London society, she declared.

"Colonel Mustang," Dante held out her hand. "We meet at last. I have heard many things about you. I'm curious to see how you measure up to your reputation."

Roy bowed in his most charming manner. "I'm afraid I shall fail miserably, Lady Dante -- I think we're both familiar enough with society rumours to know that no one's word can be taken for granted these days. But on the other hand, fiction is always more entertaining than fact."

"And much more uplifting," Dante agreed. "I can't abide this old fashioned horror of honestly. When everyone is too delicate to speak the truth, the only thing worth listening to are lies."

"But if you don't speak truth and only hear lies, what does one believe?"

"Your reputation did not include your being a philosopher, Brigadier Hughes." Date turned her attention to Hughes with interest. "I wonder what else you have up your sleeves?"

"You're getting mixed up," Roy was startled as Edward spoke up suddenly. He'd forgotten the boys were in the room, so strong was the Lady's presence. "Magicians keep things up their sleeves; Brigadier Hughes is a detective." There was malicious emphasis on the last word.

There was a definite coolness in Dante's reply. "Children should be seen, Edward, and not heard. Shouldn't the two of you be with your tutor?"

"We have to greet the guests," Alphonse protested. "They're here by our Father's invitation--"

"And your Father pays Mr. Tucker a generous allowance to see to your education. I'll take care of these gentlemen, you two return to your studies."

"But --" Alphonse clearly wanted to protest but a sharp look from Edward stopped him. Roy wondered at the gesture. It was so slight, yet there clearly a deeper understanding between the brothers.

"Colonel Mustang, Brigadier Hughes," Edward bowed politely, his brother following his example. "It was a pleasure to meet you. We'll see you again at dinner no doubt." They left silently, Edward without looking back, Alphonse casting a hopeful look at Hughes.

It wasn't until the door shut behind them that Dante broke the silence. "I find children vastly overrated," she remarked, the maid fluffing the sofa cushions as she seated herself. "I understand that you've been blessed in that respect, Brigadier?"

"Alicia," Hughes said, Dante's disapproving tone not preventing him from speaking rapturously. "She'll be two next month. A perfect angel --"

"That may as well be," Dante settled back. "For my own part I think that children should grow up as early as possible. All this childhood nonsense -- it may be fashionable but its not practical."

"If they are such trouble, surely finding them a good school would be no problem?" Roy found himself angered by Dante's cool dismission of the brothers. From what he'd seen neither of them were insufferable children; both were polite and seemed intelligent enough.

"It's not that simple. We -- that is, the boy's father and I -- have discussed the possibility more than once. It was on the advice of a London doctor that Mr. Tucker was retained and the boys educated from home."

"A doctor?" Roy was suspicious. "They both seem active, healthy boys --"

"There are more diseases than those that assail the body," Dante answered vaguely. "Lila, I'd like my embroidery. For heaven's sakes, girl, what are the curtains still doing drawn?"

The maid hastened to make amends.

"I must say," Hughes said casually, pouring a glass of wine for Dante and extending the glass to her with practiced urbaneness, "that you are exceedingly well acquainted with the affairs of this household."

"Naturally," Dante accepted the glass and the suggestion agreeably. "I'm an old family friend. I've known Hohenheim since before his marriage, and after the tragic loss of his wife -- very sad for him -- he's come to rely on my judgement in womanly matters, such as the housekeeping arrangements and the care of the boys. I'm practically a member of the family."

If that was true, Roy pitied the boys immensely.

Curtis held the door open as a group of people entered, busily discussing something extremely scientific sounding. There were three of them and Roy knew at once that the first was Hohenheim.

The giant of a butler overtowered all of them, but somehow Hohenheim himself was not overshadowed by his presence. He was a tall man himself, sturdily built and with an air of control and command. He was handsome, his intelligent face framed by a healthy beard and hair worn long in an old fashioned style. If it wasn't for his clothing, rich waistcoat and well made suit in muted, respectable hues, he would have resembled nothing so much as a Nordic warrior of old. He certainly did not look like the dry scientist Roy had imagined.

"I see our guests have arrived," He said, interrupting the scientific discussion and stepping forward to greet Roy and Hughes with a hearty handshake. "Welcome, Colonel Mustang, Brigadier Hughes."

His grip was strong -- Roy decided he really could have made a Viking warrior. "We appreciate your hospitality, Professor. There are few people who would extend such a welcome to strangers."

"Not at all," Hohenheim said, turning to give Hughes the same greeting. "You are friends of Marcoh, you are friends of mine. Please make yourself at home here during your stay." He ushered forward the people with him. "May I present my research assistant, Miss. Shezchka, and my secretary, Mr. Envy Dante."

Shezchka, for all her Russian sounding name, was a very awkward English girl, easily flustered and with large, unflattering glasses. Bookish, and not Roy's type by any stretch of the imagination. Her hesitant greeting was quickly lost amid the other conversation.

Envy, on the other hand, resembled his mother, having force of personality to spare. However, where Dante's colouring was dark, Envy obviously took after his father. Roy glanced at Hughes to see if he'd noticed and his friend nodded; the connection might not have been so obvious had they not already met Hohenheim's sons. As it was, the relationship was clear.

"We don't often have such distinguished visitors," the secretary said, going to sit on the arm of the sofa beside his mother. "I hope that you're not too bored by Lincolnshire." Roy disliked him already. He was handsome, yes, long elegant face well suited to the long hair that hung loosely to his shoulders. But there was a faintly arrogant tone to his voice that showed he was well aware of his advantages. Urbane, but not . . . not cricket.

"I'm entertained already," Hughes said, offering his hand. "Marcoh promised us a quiet visit with old friends -- he said nothing about such an illustrious persons as your mother and yourself being present."

"We don't shake hands, Brigadier," Dante said, as Envy smiled but didn't take the offered handshake. "I don't believe in such trivialities."

"My apologies."

"None necessary." Hohenheim took charge of the conversation again, pouring himself and his colleagues glasses of the sweet German wine. "There is no stand on formality in this household, gentlemen. I value efficiency above all else. Thus, my staff and I prefer to go by our first names. It is simpler."

"So we should call you Hohenheim then? It seems very familiar."

The man shrugged. "I don't mind. I suppose that for all the years I've spent in England, I am still German at heart . . . not in any partisian sense, mind you. But in the sense that matters -- I would like to walk once more in the lanes of my childhood . . . but Germany would not welcome me, and at any rate, I couldn't leave the experiments."

"Shezchka is my first name," the research assistant announced suddenly. "But I've always been called it, if only because no one can pronouce my last."

"Oh?" Roy asked. "And what is your surname, Miss Shezchka?"

She told him.

"I can see that we shall be joining the majority," Hughes said, while Roy still struggled with the impossible amount of consonants. "Not a very British name?"

"No, my father was a Polish shipping merchant who settled in England. He married an English woman, and I've been entirely brought up here."

"In terms of interesting names, I can see I'm well out-classed," Roy had recovered himself and turned to Dante and her son. "I think Mr. Envy has the most unusual name of anyone present."

"My son's name must be striking," Dante said with obvious pride. "Striking and unique -- nothing less would suit him."

"You flatter me too highly," Envy remarked, not sounding at all bothered by this. "Although as names go, it is certainly commanding."

No, not arrogant at all. Roy reminded himself that it would be impolite to bait the young man. "While it isn't uncommon for a child to be named after an ideal or even a virtue, the names Ernest and Prudence immediately springing to mind, I'm surprised by the choice of Envy. I mean, it's not exactly a positive association -- ware green-eyed envy and all of that?"

"Ah, but Mustang -- may I call you Mustang? -- that is the point. It's unexpected, and defies convention. And why shouldn't it? When you think about the so-called Christian virtues, humility, temperence and so on, too often they're designed to keep people in check. Religion as social control, as it were." Dante set aside her wine glass, growing involved in her answer. "If everyone is taught to be content with their lot and to desire nothing -- well, where is the passion for life? The struggle for greatness? The discoveries? It is ambition, the want for better things, that fuels great men and great discoveries. Envy is not something to be feared."

"You argue well," Hughes noted. "And how does your son live up to his name?"

"Envy has the makings of a fine scientist," Hohenheim answered. "He certainly makes an excellent secretary. The rest I leave up to him."

It was a father's answer. Roy kept his expression neutral, sipping the wine he held. He liked to think of himself as a man of progressive ideals, but still that Hohenheim would acknowledge the relationship so clearly . . . Well, he was foreign. And, when you thought about it, acknowledging the child was only decent -- but having him in his house alongside his legitimate children! That was something else entirely . . . He wondered what Mrs. Elric would have thought of that.

It appeared Hughes was thinking along similar lines. "How long have you been secretary to Mr. Hohenheim?"

"It would be four years now," Envy answered thoughtfully. "But in a way it seems much longer. Like I've always been here." There was something in the way he said that, something in the glance that crossed between him and Dante --

Cats who have got the cream.

Still four years -- Roy thought back to the woman in the newspaper photo of three years ago. Sweet, charitable and loving -- but how forgiving would she have been of her husband's bastard living in her house?

"We named my little precious after my wife's mother. Alicia is every bit as gorgeous as her name sounds! And my dear Gracia is gracious indeed!" Hughes mooned over his absent family a few moments then continued. "It was her choice of name -- then she has always been good at making decisions. Such sensibility! So refined -- but what else can you expect from a mother?" He turned suddenly to Hohenheim. "I expect it was your wife who named your sons -- Edward seems very prosaic after the conversation we've been having."

Roy happened to be studying the painting behind Dante -- if he watched Hughes go stupid over his wife he'd end up strangling him -- so he didn't miss the sudden bitterness that crossed Lady Dante's face or the slight curl to her lip. It was gone in a second but it was jarring -- Roy was broken out of these reflections as Hohenheim laughed.

"Yes, they're hardly the names I would have chosen . . . Trisha -- that is, my wife -- was something of a romantic. She insisted on naming Edward after his Majesty -- and as your Foreign Affairs people were looking into my application for a residence permit at the time, I thought such an English gesture a prudent choice. We wanted something with Classical connotations for his brother, and originally had Alexander in mind. But when he was born he turned out to be such a round baby. All smiles and happiness and really, Alexander didn't suit him at all. So Alphonse." Hohenheim set his wine glass down. "I take it you've met the boys then?"

"Yes, they were good enough to greet us upon our arrival. They're remarkably polite for their years."

"There is very little by way of childish amusements around here," Hohenheim explained. "They're both used to the company of their elders. Compared to English children their age, my sons are years ahead, not just socially but academically as well."

This display of fatherly pride did not seem to endear itself to Dante. "I sent them back to their studies," she said shortly. "Polite as they are there is a place for children."

"Boys must be boys. As a matter of fact, I wanted to have a word with Tucker. If you'll excuse me, I'll see you all at dinner -- ah, Curtis. What is the matter?"

The giant loomed as inconspicuously as possible and announced there had been a phonecall from Doctor Marcoh. Due to an unforeseen complication he would be unable to make his way to Lincolnshire until tomorrow.

"Well, that is a pity," Hohenheim said. "Still, it can't be helped. Have our guests been shown to their rooms yet?"

Curtis answered in the negative. "They're ready. I was on my way to inform you when the phone rang."

"Then I'll take them upstairs myself. Gentleman, if you will . . . ?"

Roy hastily put his wine glass aside and followed Hohenheim and Hughes along the corridor and up the eleaborately carved wooden staircase. This must have been where it happened, he thought, pausing a moment at the top of the stairs. If she fell here -- or was pushed . . . He shivered.

Hughes had asked a question and Hohenheim was answering it, leading the way down another corridor. Roy hastened to catch up.

"-- entirely original, I believe, but architecture isn't my speciality. You're over here in the East Wing. I thought you'd like adjoining rooms. The school room is at the end of the hall, and the boys and Tucker are on either side of it."

"You seem to be remarkably blessed with regards to your sons," Hughes remarked idly. "All three of them."

Roy was startled. What the Dickens did Hughes mean by making such a forward remark?

Hohenheim met his gaze coolly. "Your forthrightness is not what one expects from an Englishman. Still, I suppose it does make sense to get this out of the way at the start. Envy is my son, I'm not ashamed of the fact, not will I try to hide it. I know Society at large will not approve of this fact, but I have little use for Society." And, his tone implied, I have little use for those who do not share my opinion.

"It would be good for Society if more fathers were to make such a stand," Hughes agreed. "But far be it from us to judge. I know Roy has come damnably close to finding himself inadvertantly blessed in the family way more than once--"

Roy spluttered angrily. "Maes! That's neither here nor there--"

"Don't worry, Roy. We all know that should it happen, you'd do the gentlemanly thing and marry the girl--"

"That's where we differ then," Holmheim said gravely. "I would not marry because it was the right thing -- never." He shook his head, giving Roy and Hughes an almost wry smile. "It must seem strange to hear a thoroughly scientific soul such as myself speak of love, but I can think of only one reason to marry, and having married once I will never marry again." He bowed formally to his guests. "I'll leave you to settle in."

Roy watched him go. He was definitely a remarkable man. Great, even -- he had that aura. "He's certainly an interesting study," he remarked quietly to Hughes. "Maes?"

His friend was already investigating their rooms. "I claim the one with the biggest bed!"


	3. Dinner with the Elrics

3.

Roy rapped on the door that joined his room to Hughes's. "What do you think, old man? Suit and tie?" he asked as he opened the door.

Hughes was midway through buttoning up his shirt. "Hard to say. Dressing for dinner is commonly expected but they definitely don't stand on ceremony here."

"Yes, they've made a point of that. For that matter, we don't even know when dinner is."

Roy's statement was punctuated by a knock at the door. Raising an eyebrow at him, Hughes called out "Come in."

Edward did not appear entirely happy to be there. "Father asked me to take you down to dinner and see if you had any questions. He also advised that a tie and jacket would be enough for dinner."

"Excellent. Thank you, Edward," Hughes began throwing clothes out of his suitcase in hunt of a tie. "I know I packed it --"

Roy's jacket was neatly folded over the back of his chair. He pulled it on, studying Edward thoughtfully as he did so. The boy was sitting in the chair by the end of the bed. He looked not wary now, but bored.

"You're studying Latin?" Roy found himself making conversation out of pity. "A full classical education then?"

"Yes," Edward looked surprised to find himself spoken to. "Although I'd much rather be studying Greek. But Mr. Tucker specialised in Latin so . . ." He shrugged.

"You don't have a scientific leaning then?" Roy was interested despite himself. "I imagine Latin would be useful for all the scientific names and that--"

"Oh yes, Latin's very useful for biology and medicine," Edward answered seriously and with obvious relish. "But what I want to know is how things began. What makes things happen."

"And for that you need Greek?"

"Archimedes, Pythagoras -- they're famed as mathmaticians but they did more. They were the first scientists, you know. And then there's Plato --"

"You obviously know your stuff," Hughes remarked, dumping the contents of his suitcase onto his bed and rifling through them. "But wouldn't it make more sense to read the works of more recent scientists?"

"Father says we're not allowed in his study," Edward said resentfully. "All we have is the library. Still, the Renaissance writers were all right. Some of them had good ideas. They believed that you should start with the Greeks. I've been teaching myself some Greek, and so far it's really interesting--"

His enthusiastic explanation was suddenly interrupted by a tweed jacket to his head.

"I can only find the crimson tie," Hughes fretted. "Surely Gracia didn't forget the navy -- oh, my love, how could I say such a thing? My sweet would never make such a mistake --"

"Maes," Roy interrupted. "Put your crimson tie on before you make us late for dinner." He smiled as he helped Edward untangle himself from the jacket. "Forgive my friend, he's married."

"This is a common symptom of marriage then?" Edward smirked, and Roy was pleased to see that the boy did after all possess a sense of humour. There was still hope for him then.

"Not a common symptom, except where the sufferer is already in possession of a weak intellect --" Roy stopped suddenly, his attention arrested by a discoloured patch at Edward's wrist. He reached over to hold it up to the light. "That's an unusual place to have a bruise."

Edward tugged his hand away and retreated. He straightened his own shirt and tie looking for all the world like a turtle retreating into its shell. "Not really," he said the wariness in his voice back full force. "I expect I caught it on something."

"In that case you'd expect the bruise to be on the outside of your wrist surely? I don't see how you'd managed to hit the inside--"

"I don't remember how it happened," Edward said shortly. "I think it's time we went downstairs." Without waiting for them to respond he walked out into the corridor.

"Well," Hughes remarked, fingers busy with the knot of his navy tie. "That was an interesting reaction."

"What was all this rigamarole in aid of?" Roy eyed the 'missing' tie sourly. "If you knew where that thing was the entire time --"

"Would you have had the same opportunity to talk to Edward? We're investigating, Roy. If we want people to talk to us, we have to win them over first. You're much better than me at charming people so that is your role in this puzzle."

"I see," Roy held the door open for Hughes. "At least you acknowledge I'm good for something."

"You open doors, don't you?"

Edward was waiting at the head of the stairs, and he led them to the dining room without any further words. It was a grand room, its main feature a large oak table. Alphonse was already sitting there waiting, along with a thin, anemic looking man who stood and offered his hand as they approached.

"This is an unexpected honour," he said. "How do you do. I'm Shou Tucker, delighted to make your acquaintance. Really, this is most unexpected --"

Even if he hadn't known Tucker to be the boys's tutor, Roy would known him at once for a man who made a living by books. He had the paleness of one who seldom left a library, and matched this with the traditional disdain of a scholar for fashionable, or even, matching clothes. His dinner suit was obviously well worn.

Roy and Hughes made polite replies and Curtis opened the door to usher in the rest of the party.

Dinner would not make Roy's list of most entertaining dining experiences. Not only was there a distinct shortage of attractive and marriageable women, but discussion tended heavily towards the academic. Hughes had somehow ended up near Hohenheim who sat at the head of the table, Shezchka at his side, and Roy did not envy his friend. At least he could sort of follow the conversation that went on around him. Dante held forth on modern methods of education from the hostesses' seat at the end of the table. Tucker humbly disagreed on her left, Edward and Alphonse sitting beside him. Roy sat next to Envy on Dante's right.

Since he couldn't follow the conversation, Roy concentrated instead on his dinner companions. Hughes and he had both agreed that there seemed to be no reason for Trisha Elric to be murdered, but they'd assumed that, as Marcoh had written, she had been a happy and contented wife and mother. They'd been in the Elric residence mere hours and already it was clear that this was not a happy family.

Dante was the most obvious reason for that. She was voicing, with great confidence in her judgement, the argument that her choice of educational system was clearly the best. Tucker was barely managing to put together a sentence in his defence.

"Many great thinkers were educated from home," Tucker was saying. "Think of--"

"But there is simply no way to teach social interaction, how to get along with one's peers, or any chance to make the social links that will be so useful in later life. A friend of mine is headmaster of a really modern school for boys in the South, apparently most satisfactory. It would be most advantageous for dear Alphonse -- Don't you agree, Hohenheim?"

That 'dear' was laying it on a bit thick, Roy thought, especially in light of her earlier comments about not having any time for children.

Hohenheim looked up from the other end of the table. "I'm sorry, Dante. I wasn't listening?"

Dante explained the school and her reasoning at length. Tucker fidgeted and Alphonse glared mutinously at Dante. He seemed on the point of interrupting several times but apparently thought the better of it. Edward picked at his food and waited.

"Thank your friend for the offer," Hohenheim replied. "But Alphonse will stay at home."

"And pass up such a great opportunity? Surely --"

"I have made my opinion on the matter clear," Hohenheim stated, calmly but firmly. "Unless both boys can attend, neither of them will leave this house."

That was clearly not the answer Dante wanted to hear. "And when the time comes for Alphonse to attend University, what will you do then? Surely you don't intend to deprive him of his own life just because his brother --"

"Dante, that is enough. We will speak no more on this subject." There was just a hint of warning in Hohenheim's voice. Dante subsided angrily. "By the time Alphonse is of an age to attend University, Edward will be of an age to make his own choices. Neither will be held back."

"Indeed," Tucker agreed suddenly. "If I may be so bold, I might say that I consider both of them able to attend any University they want. They have already far outstripped me mathematically, and they take after their father in the sciences." He fiddled nervously with his glasses. "In fact, I uh, took the liberty of sending a discourse Edward wrote to my former Physics Master for his opinion. I was very impressed by it and thought it merited examination by someone more expert in the field."

"Something Edward wrote?" Hohenheim looked down the table with an expression that looked, to Roy, curiously as though he were seeing his son for the first time. "Is that so."

Edward took this as permission to speak. "Al and I have been looking at the practical applications of aerodynamics."

"Aerodynamics?" Envy laughed. "Don't tell me the two of you are still working on that childish project--"

"It's not childish!" Alphonse replied immediately. "We've been doing a lot of research--"

Hohenheim held up his hand. "No quarreling at the dinner table, Alphonse. Now, why don't you tell me about this project?"

Edward explained in technical terms that had Roy quickly baffled. From the looks of things he wasn't the only one. Envy was yawning theatrically, Dante looked long suffering, and Tucker indulgent.

"You've certainly put a lot of effort into this," Hohenheim said. "What's your purpose with all this?" He had set aside his meal to listen closely.

Edward took a deep breath. "We want to design and build airplanes."

"You must know that's impossible," Dante said with patronising kindness. "Surely you realise that would take years of testing, of flight trials -- and there's simply no way that you could ever pilot, Edward."

"I'll be the pilot," Alphonse said firmly. "We've got a codebook from an RAF pilot, and I already know most of it by heart. I should be able to get a pilot's license easily --"

"You'd need a plane first," Envy pointed out. "Or have you forgotten?"

"Even providing you had a test pilot, I'm afraid that there would be no chance of you being allowed to operate the sort of machinery used to build a plane. You must realise, Edward, that were you to have an episode while working --"

"I'll have Alphonse there, or someone else," Edward said firmly. "We'll think of a way around this."

"Be more polite when addressing an elder, Edward," Hohenheim said. "I'm sure you and your brother will figure something out. You certainly seem to have everything planned neatly."

Edward looked startled at this announcement, but Alphonse fairly glowed at the praise. "We will! We've been restoring the old car to practice."

"Restoring?"

"Ross showed us how to remove the engine," Alphonse explained happily. He was, as Hohenheim had described him, a child meant to be smiling. Roy couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "And we took it apart and cleaned it and we finished putting it back together last week. We're working on the rest of it now--"

"You don't mean the old wreck they pulled out of the river?" Hohenheim was surprised. "You've managed to restore the engine?"

Hughes spoke up suddenly. He'd been observing like Roy, allowing himself to fall into the background. "Now that is an accomplishment. I don't suppose I'd be allowed to take a look? I have a fondness for tinkering about with machines --"

"It would be very kind of you to take a look," Edward replied.

Alphonse looked hopefully at Hohenheim. "Father, do you think that--"

"I'll see if I have time tomorrow," Hohenheim said. "After we've wrapped up the experiments for the day."

By the way Alphonse's face fell this was clearly a 'no.'

"We've been neglecting our guests," Dante announced sharply. "Come on, gentlemen, you must tell us all the news from London."

News from London managed to occupy the conversation until dessert was served.

"I must say I didn't expect to find a cook this capable in Lincolnshire," Hughes observed. "This pudding is divine! I must take the recipe back to my Gracia."

"I'm sure Mrs. Curtis won't mind giving you the recipe," Shezchka said. "She's lovely."

This was the first statement unconnected with the project that Shezchka had uttered all dinner. Roy had forgotten she was present and blinked at her, even as he tried to imagine the giant with a wife. She'd never fit in a kitchen, surely --

"She is good in the kitchen, undoubtedly," Dante agreed. "But in my view rather lax in her housekeeping. If this were my house --"

"Tell Curtis we'll have coffee in the drawing room." Hohenheim told the housemaid. "And ask him to send in some chocolate for the boys."

Alphonse brightened at this announcement. "We get to stay up?"

"Only if you're good," their Father cautioned. "Tucker, will you join us?"

"I'll come down later," the tutor said, flustered by the invitation. "I must put Nina to bed."

Dante's mouth was set in disapproval. "Are you sure that encouraging the boys to stay up is wise? Soon they'll expect it all the time."

Her habit of continually talking of the children as if they weren't present was really grating on Roy's nerves. She was not an unintelligent woman, surely she was aware of the effect her words might have. Yet she simply didn't care --

"It's just this once," Hohenheim said. "As we have visitors. The boys will behave, won't you?"

"Perfectly, father."

They did too, sitting around an easy table to the side of the room with the pieces of a model plane they were assembling. They didn't disrupt the conversation, demand attention or spill drinks at all. Model children, Roy thought, wandering over to see what they were working on.

"Is that a SPAD XIII?" he asked impressed. "I had no idea they were that well known out of the Corps."

"We found the specifics in a piloting magazine," Alphonse told him. "And the rest has been quite easy to construct. Mrs. Curtis let us cut up an old flour bag for the canvas, and we cut the wood ourselves --"

"It's a fragile looking thing, isn't it?" Envy asked, reaching over the table. "I can't imagine that people actually go up in these things --"

"Don't touch it!" Alphonse hastily reached out to stop him. "You'll break it--"

Their hands connected at the same time. There was a sharp snap.

"Sorry."

"Our plane!" Alphonse rounded on Envy angrily. "You did that on purpose!"

"It was an accident," Envy shrugged. "I said sorry."

"Al," Edward said quietly. "We can fix it."

"But -- it's not fair!" Al turned to Hohenheim beseechingly. "Father, look what Envy did--"

"It was an accident, Alphonse. You should apologise to Envy."

"But--"

"Now."

Alphonse clutched the broken plane tightly. "Sorry," he mumbled in a voice so low it was barely distinct.

"That's better. Now, rejoin your brother. Edward will put it right."

Roy judged it best to leave the brothers time to regain their good mood. He turned back to the main group just in time to catch Envy's slow smirk -- somehow he wasn't surprised that there had been no accident.

"You see," Dante said. "You need to take a firm hand with the boys."

"No harm done," Hohenheim shrugged. "Shezchka, do you want to put a gramaphone on? I quite fancy some Bach."

Hughes was studying the portrait hung over the fireplace. "What a splendid photo -- this would be your late wife, I imagine?"

"Trisha," Hohenheim said. "Yes, it was taken while on our honeymoon."

His voice was carefully neutral -- expressionless or hiding pain? With Hohenheim it was impossible to tell. Still, Roy reflected, glancing around the room, it was the only personal ornamentation in the entire room. A few nondescript landscape paintings hung on the walls, and there was the book case and gramaphone but nothing else. Hohenheim was clearly not a person who bothered with knick-knacks.

"She was a lovely woman," Shezchka said thoughtfully, holding a book on her lap. "Always kind. She made this house feel like a home -- oh, I'm sorry! It's not my place to comment --" She hid hastily behind her book.

An unexpected statement from the quiet researcher. Hughes caught Roy's eye and waggled his eyebrows in an alarming manner -- clearly Roy was meant to exert his masculine charms to find out more. Roy gave his friend a sour look. It would be like Hughes if this murder rigamarole turned out to be an elaborate plan to set him up with a suitable girl --

"Trisha was a kind woman," Dante said with distaste. "But you can't say she was an efficient house keeper or manager. Why, since I've been here, you wouldn't believe how much dear Hohenheim has saved in household costs."

It must be great indeed, Roy thought acidly, if it's enough to compell him to put up with you. He took the chair beside Shezchka. "You've been Hohenheim's research assistant some time then?"

"Oh, yes -- it would be almost eight years now. I was barely out of school when I took this position and well, I've been here ever since."

"That long? You must be very dedicated to the project then. I imagine that most girls your age would find the country life very dull."

"Oh, but it's such interesting work! And, really, the chance to work alongside Professor Hohenheim --" Shezchka glanced up to see if anyone was paying attention to their conversation. As Envy was reading aloud from The Times, Hohenheim and Dante listening to him and making comments, and Hughes was busy helping the boys with their plane, she continued. "He really is a genius. A mind like his comes along only once or twice in a century -- and the project we're working on has amazing potential. The professor believes he can harvest the power of the atoms--"

"Fascinating," Roy said hastily, hoping to forestall another barrage of scientific jargon. "So, the three of you work on the project?"

"Well, it's really the Professor that does most of the work. He comes up with the theory and plans the experiments. I record the results, and help him carry them out. I'm not nearly clever enough to help with any of the actual theorising. All I'm good at is reading."

"I'm sure that's not true," Roy said pleasantly. "I'm sure Professor Hohenheim wouldn't have kept you on for so long if he didn't value your input."

"Well -- my memory has helped out on more than one occasion," Shezchka admitted. "About three years ago a very important document went missing -- the project might have been cancelled without it. I was able to recreate it from memory -- I've always been good at remembering things I've read."

"Amazing." Roy was bored stupid. Hughes was going to pay for this. "And what does Mr. Envy contribute to the project?"

Shezchka looked startled. "Mr. Envy? Well, he's Hohenheim's secretary."

"Yes," Roy said. "But that doesn't tell me what he does."

"Oh, I see." Shezchka frowned thoughtfully. "Well, mostly he takes calls and messages on the Professor's behalf -- so he's free to work on the project, you see. And he edits and proofs the Professor's manuscripts. He's preparing a new book on our findings -- it's going to be revolutionary." Shezchka's eyes were shining behind her over-thick glasses. "A masterwork."

"But he doesn't actually take part in the experiments?"

"He helps out when we need another pair of hands, but Mr. Envy doesn't have a background in science. He's very clever, but the kind of work we do really requires an expert --"

"Such as Doctor Marcoh?"

"Yes, indeed. Doctor Marcoh is very clever in this field, and very kind. Not as brilliant perhaps as the Professor, but an astute researcher. I don't think there could be anyone more suitable than him to manage the project in London."

"Indeed." What the hell was he supposed to say to the girl now? May as well ask questions pertaining to the murder -- "What was Mrs. Elric like?"

"Oh -- Trisha?" Shezchka looked bewildered. "Why would you ask about her?"

Roy nodded in Hohenheim's direction. "Like you said he is a remarkable man. I can't help but wonder what sort of woman he would chose to marry."

"Well, Trisha wasn't what you'd expect. You'd think a man like him should have someone driven, someone that would devote herself to his work, share his vision," Shezchka took the wine glass Roy gave her unthinkingly. "The last person you'd have chosen was Trisha. She wasn't interested in science at all, except for how it affected Hohenheim, and she'd have been equally happy if he'd been a farmer or a lawyer, I think. She just loved him."

"And that was enough?"

"Oh, yes." Shezchka nodded. "I expect it sounds stupid but they were one of the happiest couples I've seen. He had his work, and she left him to it, bringing up the boys and supporting him as best she could -- It was really very sweet to see them together. Very much the Victorian ideal of man and wife . . . of course, the Professor could get a bit distracted."

"I can imagine that," Roy agreed.

"Do you know, Trisha had to take a cab to her Doctor's when Edward was born? Hohenheim had looked himself in the attic to work on an experiment and didn't notice. He was really apologetic afterwards, of course, and when she was pregnant with Alphonse, he made sure there was a doctor in the house the entire time."

"Good heavens," Roy said. "And Trisha didn't complain?"

"Oh, no, she never complained. She understood."

"Understood?"

"Well, no matter how busy Hohenheim got with his work, she was his wife. She knew he loved her. That was all she needed."

"A remarkable woman," Roy murmured politely. "Still, I can't imagine the arrival of Lady Dante pleased her?"

Shezchka looked bewildered. "Lady Dante? What would she have to do with anything?"

"Well, what with her prior connections to Hohenheim . . . and her son . . ." Roy's vague hints were met with a blank stare. Shezchka was clearly not a keen observer of her fellow mankind.

Roy was saved an awkward explanation by a remark of Lady Dante's, loud enough to be heard throughout the drawing room. "Really, Edward! Be more careful! You might have upset that glass over me."

Edward retrieved the glass carefully. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I was reaching for the scissors --"

"There's no excuse for carelessness, young man. I think it's high time you learnt --"

"Go easy on him," Envy said, surprisingly. He touched his mother's arm as he joined the two of them. "Edward apologised, didn't he? If you ask me, he's looking a bit pale . . ."

Dante was instantly solicitious. "You'd better go and lie down, Edward. I'll have Lila take up your tonic."

"I'm fine, really," Edward protested.

"Best not to take chances," Envy patted his shoulder. "Come on, I'll take you upstairs."

"Oh, don't worry about it, Mr. Envy!" Alphonse latched onto his brother's arm with determined politeness. "I'll go with Edward. We have a Latin passage Mr. Tucker set us for study tomorrow. I can read it aloud while Ed rests."

"But you're having such a good time with your model plane --"

"I think," Edward said quietly. "That I would like Al to read to me. He has a soothing voice, and it's near our bedtime anyway."

"A good point," Dante approved. "Well, say goodnight to your father then, boys."

Roy watched the boys leave with bafflement. No one else present seemed to find it strange that Envy would show such sudden concern for his half-brother. Maybe he was reading too much into it.

"Poor Edward," Shezchka said. "And he was doing so well at dinner too."

Roy had completely forgotten about the girl. She'd opened her book, but she was looking at the door the boys had just departed through. "Does this happen often?"

Shezchka seemed confused by the question. "I suppose it must," she said vaguely. "We don't see much of the boys and Edward doesn't -- well, make a show of it."

Roy thought about that.

"Dear Edward," Dante said, obviously for Hohenheim's sake. "Such a brave child. Much like his father in that respect. Such a pity -- and he is the heir to this place too," she added, turning to Roy and Hughes. "Really very sad."

"The law of primogeniture?" Hughes whistled. "I'm surprised to find such a prosaic law in amongst such revolutionary people."

Hohenheim smiled faintly. "Society would contest any will I made that didn't leave the bulk of my estate to the boys," he said. "But I'm content that Edward should inherit the house. It was as much his mother's as it is mine, and I know I can trust him to see to his brother's wellbeing."

Roy could guess how well that went down with Envy and his imperious mother.

The conversation that followed was desultory at best, and Roy couldn't say that he was disappointed when Hohenheim set down the book he'd been reading and announced that he was retiring for the night.

"I'm afraid you'll find that early nights are rather the norm here, gentleman," He informed Roy and Hughes. "But when you're hard at work --"

"We quite understand," Hughes answered. "As a matter of fact, we had an early start this morning. I dare say it would do us well to turn in now." What he really meant is that he wanted to talk to Roy.

"Quite good going for the first day, I think," Hughes said, leaning in the doorway that connected their bedrooms as he undid his tie and dinner jacket. "We've learnt a lot."

"Really?" Roy was not as impressed. "Please enlighten me then. I must have missed it."

"Roy," Hughes said fondly. "Really, you can't expect a clue to put out it's hand and introduce itself to you." He carelessly let his jacket slide to the floor. "Let's review what we've learnt, shall we? As far as I see it we now have two suspects."

"The husband or the mistress? I suppose Hohenheim is the most likely. If his wife had found out about his affair --"

"It's a possibility," Hughes acknowledged. "Although . . . I rather get the impression that Dante isn't his mistress at all."

"But you've seen the way she acts around him --"

"Rather too zealous, even for such a revolutionary personage as herself, don't you think, old chap? I think she's staking her claim -- trying to convince old Hohenheim that she's what's best for him."

"And he's not buying it? Why doesn't he just toss her out then?"

"I suspect that's where the son comes into it. An old flame is one thing, your own child quite another . . . and Hohenheim seems to take familial duties seriously in theory, even if in practice he leaves something lacking --"

"Not the world's greatest father, is he?" Roy said opening the wardrobe to put his dinner jacket away. "The boys seem to have the worst side of this whole mess --" he trailed off in some surprise. There was an extra pair of shoes in his wardrobe. Attached to them was an extra pair of legs that travelled up and ended amongst Roy's smoking jacket.

"What the blazes do you think you're doing in my wardrobe?" Roy demanded of the legs.

"I'm terribly sorry," the owner of the legs said, pushing the smoking jacket aside to blink up at Roy, his round face radiating great earnestness. "You see, I thought this was the Brigadier's room."

"Is that so," Hughes leaned on the wardrobe door. "And what business did you have in mind with my wardrobe, then?"

"I have to talk with you," Alphonse said seriously. "You see, I know who did the murder."


	4. Why Alphonse will never be a detective

4.

"So then, Mr. Alphonse," Hughes said, once the boy had been removed from Roy's wardrobe and offered the comfortable chair by the door. "Why don't you start by telling us why you had to hide in my closet?"

"None of the others would want me to talk to you," Alphonse explained eagerly. "They all try to pretend it didn't happen. But I know the truth."

Roy found it very hard not to smile at his enthusiasm. Clearly, this was a great adventure for the boy. "And that relates to my wardrobe how?"

"Ed would be angry if he knew I was in here," Alphonse said frankly. "He's sort of funny about the whole thing. He thinks that we shouldn't say anything about it to you."

"Why would that be?"

"I don't know. He never tells me anything any more." The boy's round face was uncharacteristically concerned. "I'm worried about him. He's almost always quiet now --if they'd just leave, everything would be all right."

"They being Dante and her son?"

"Just say my half-brother. It's not like it's a secret," Alphonse's tone was resentful. "Everything was fine before they came."

"That sounds rather like a fairy-tale," Hughes remarked lightly. "Cinderella-like -- complete with wicked stepmother and half-brother."

"She's not my step-mother," Alphonse said. "And she won't be. Father's not going to marry her. I asked."

"Really?" Roy couldn't help but smile at the child's straightforwardness. "And what did your father say to that?"

"He said I was talking nonsense," Alphonse reported. "And that he intended to do nothing of the sort." He frowned. "I hate her," he admitted candidly. "I wish she would go away."

"And you think," Hughes suggested carefully, "that if she were found guilty of murder --"

"No, you're wrong! It wasn't her," Alphonse said. "It was Envy."

"Envy?" Roy hadn't expected that. If Envy wanted to murder someone, it made more sense surely to focus on those that had stolen his place in his father's family, his inheritance -- namely the two brothers. Why would he want to murder Mrs. Elric? Unless -- perhaps he thought that if she were out of the way, his mother might -- Roy's thoughts were broken into by Alphonse's quiet explanation.

"She was afraid of him. I don't know why -- she wouldn't tell me. But I was the last person to see her on the night that she died. I haven't even told Edward this." Alphonse looked gravely at them to make sure they understood the importance of this. "I was sleeping, I think and she woke me up. She had her nightdress on and a robe around her and she asked me where Ed was. Said she'd had a funny dream and wanted to check up on him."

"And he wasn't there?"

"He told me he couldn't sleep, and wanted to walk in the gardens for a bit. He was allowed to then," Alphonse explained. "And she sat on the end of my bed with her candle and we talked for a bit. I asked her about her dream but she wouldn't tell me about it . . . all she did was make me promise to look after Ed. That worried me a little, because she and Father had argued that morning, and I was worried she might go away. And she said no, she had no intention of leaving. Then she asked how I felt about going to school with my brother."

"Boarding school? I was under the impression that was impossible. Your brother's health --"

"This was before he got sick," Alphonse explained. He glared fiercely. "You know, I bet he'd be all right if they'd just stayed away."

Roy coughed. Intolerable as Dante was, surely she couldn't be held accountable for illness. "Go on. What else did she say?"

"Well -- that was it really. She kissed me goodnight, and went to the door. I asked her if she hated Envy. I did. She said --" He frowned, trying to get the memory straight. "She said she didn't hate anyone. But she was afraid -- she was afraid of what he might do." Alphonse straightened triumphantly. "So you see! It must have been him."

Hughes coughed. "I'm afraid that's not enough for a police trial, Alphonse."

"But if you know he did it, you'll be able to find proof, won't you?"

"Alphonse," Hughes put both his hands on the boy's shoulders and looked at him squarely. "As of this moment, everyone who was in the house when your mother died three years ago is a suspect. While your evidence naturally puts events in a different light, as detectives, we must investigate objectively, leaving no stone unturned." He paused dramatically. "Will you help us?"

Alphonse was captivated. "Of course!"

"Then I want you to tell me anything you can of the events of that day -- and not a word to your brother or anyone else, mind. This investigation is top secret."

The boy nodded eagerly. "I won't tell -- cross my heart and hope to die."

"Excellent," Hughes clapped his shoulder. "Why don't you start with this argument that your parents had, then?"

"I don't see what that has to do with it," Alphonse said. "Anyway, I didn't hear much. I wouldn't know they argued at all except that the study window was open and we were outside."

"We?"

"Me and Ed. We were looking for our paraglider -- we were looking at hangliders at the time. We got these little metal soldiers for Christmas, and we'd made a sort of plane out of card-- the problem is, when we dropped it off the roof, it didn't glide so much as dive. We were looking for the soldier when we heard them -- he must have fallen into the garden --"

"Quite understandable then," Hughes said smoothly. "No need to explain further."

Reassured he wasn't going to be scolded for eavesdropping, Alphonse continued. "Anyway, they weren't arguing so much as -- well, father was using his big heavy voice, the one you can't argue with. He said 'I really think you're being ludicrous. There is no reason to suggest that he is anything but fond of the boys.' And mother was very very quiet -- she always was when she was upset -- and well, we didn't hear what she said exactly. But Father said 'I'll thank you to remember that I am master of this house. If you're not happy with my arrangements, you're welcome to leave.' I was really upset then and wanted to go in and stop them but Edward dragged me away before I could. I don't think she meant it though. I mean, she would never ever leave us."

"She may have been unhappy," Roy suggested. "I can't imagine she liked having Envy here."

"Oh, she didn't mind Envy at first," Alphonse explained. "But Dante was horrid. She kept harping on about how everything was wrong and really, the house could be so better kept."

"What -- Dante was here while your mother --" Roy was startled. Surely even a scientific mind such as Holmenheim's could see that bringing your former lover and your wife together under the same roof was not a recipe for comfort.

"She came by often to visit Envy," Alphonse explained. "She took a house in the neighbourhood. It was close enough that she walked over here most afternoons. She said it was for her health but it was really because she was jealous." He added, "My mother was much prettier than she was. Everybody thought so."

Roy smirked. There would be no argument from him on that point.

"And did anything else happen that day?" Hughes pressed. "Anything unusual?"

"Well, no." Alphonse considered. "Doctor Marcoh arrived later that morning, and my mother spent most of the rest of the day talking to him. Father was grumpy and yelled at Edward for taking a book out of his study. Dante was smug -- I think she was happy that my parents fought. She probably thought that it was about her. As if." Alphonse snorted. "She has to have Lila tie her into her dresses, she's so fat. And she has really awful breath. That's why she uses so much perfume."

"Indeed," Roy remarked, managing only through supreme application of will to keep the smile from off his face. "And what was Envy doing while all this talk took place?"

"I don't much remember," Alphonse said. "Edward and I were talking about the argument. Edward said that we would probably be sent to a boarding school. I think he would have liked that except that Mother would have been here on her own. Oh, I remember now. Envy heard us talking about it. He wasn't very pleased. He said it would be a waste of money to send the two of us to an expensive school. I really hate him. I know he broke the plane on purpose, but father always takes his side."

"Your father seems very distracted by his work."

"Is he? He's always been that way."

"Well, Alphonse, you've been very helpful." Hughes patted his shoulder. "You should probably go now before you're missed. Now, we'll be sure and let you know if there's anything you can do to help us but for now, just keep your eyes open for anything suspicious --"

He had Alphonse wrapped around his finger, Roy thought wryly. The boy would have done anything Hughes asked. Then again, boys of a certain age were crazy about certain things. In his case, it had been cars.

"Do you really think --" Alphonse was suddenly interrupted by the sound of breaking glass down the hall. "Ed!"

He was out the door and down the hall faster than Hughes and Roy could follow. By the time they reached the boy's bedroom, Alphonse was hovering nervously in the doorway.

"What happened? Brother, are you all right?"

"Just had one of his turns." It was Envy that answered. "I was passing and I heard the noise. For god's sake, Alphonse, don't come closer or you'll cut yourself on the glass. Go fetch the housemaid or something."

"It's all right, Al," Edward's voice sounded unsteady. As Roy reached the doorway, he could see that the boy was pale, leaning heavily against Envy. As they watched, he regained his balance, putting as much distance between himself and his half-brother as he could with Envy still holding him. "I'm not hurt. You'd better go." He was very carefully not looking at anyone.

Alphonse hesitated a moment longer before jogging down the corridor. "I'll be back soon!"

Envy let go of Edward's wrists, giving him a push toward one of the two twin beds that made up the room. "It's all right, gentlemen," he said. "As you can see, everything is perfectly under control."

"Quite," Hughes leaned back in the doorway with the attitude of someone who wasn't budging. "And what exactly happened?"

Roy wanted to drag him out of the room. It was clear what had happened -- the hinting throughout dinner, Edward's obvious embarrassment now. Really, the boy must feel awful -- and here was Maes, labouring the point --

"I was passing by and I heard a noise," Envy explained airily. "Edward had taken ill. I got to him before he could really do anything serious, but the vase is a lost cause."

The vase was now a sad puddle on the floor and a mess of splintered glass and flowers.

Edward cradled his wrist, sitting on the bed. "I suppose I knocked it over," he said, slowly. "I don't quite remember." He was looking at the vase fragments.

"Brother! Izumi made us chocolate," Alphonse re-entered the room carrying a tray. "And she's going to tuck us in and everything --"

"Wait in the corridor, Alphonse," the woman behind him nodded to Roy and Hughes in a way that was respectful but not overly deferential. She was wearing a worn dressing gown over frilly undergarments of some kind and appeared to be in her thirties. Another no-nonsense practical type -- really, Roy thought, were there any marriageable women in Lincolnshire? "I need to sweep up first." She ushered the men out of the room firmly. "If you'll excuse me gentlemen, you'll only be in my way as I clean up."

Roy and Hughes accompanied Envy down the corridor.

"Mrs. Curtis," the young man explained carelessly. "She's by way of our cook although she does most of the house keeping too. Rather a rum sort. She and her husband are Romanian, I believe. They came here two years ago. Old friends of the Professor's."

"Really," Hughes said. "And as for what happened before?"

Envy paused at the head of the stairs. "Is it necessary to dwell on such painful things? Very well, if I must be blunt. Edward has . . . episodes in which he is not entirely himself. We've had doctors here, of course, specialists of all kinds and none of them have been able to offer a treatment -- you can imagine what a blow this was to Holmenheim." There was a faintly satisfied note in his voice as he continued. "Up until then Edward was the perfect son -- took after Father in every thing."

"When we reached the room," Hughes continued, "I may be mistaken, but it looked to me very much like you were subduing the boy."

Envy's smile was wide. "During Edward's spells, he is quite unware of his surroundings. It is necessary to restrain him, to prevent him from causing harm to himself. Regrettable, but necessary."

Roy frowned but kept silent. Maes knew what he was doing, but . . . the composed young man in front of them sent chills down his spine.

"I wonder, how necessary is it?" Hughes asked, eyes narrowed. "There seems to be little love lost between you and your siblings --"

"Oh, we quarrel," Envy said with another charming smile. "All brothers do." He paused meaningfully before continuing lightly. "I can't deny, Alphonse is fun to tease. He never fails to take the bait. But Edward -- Edward is entirely different. I know you gentleman will have difficulty believing it, but I would never let anyone harm Edward." He nodded to them, turning to take the passage to the West Wing. "Goodnight, gentlemen."

"The more I see of him, the less I like him," Roy said in a low voice to Hughes once Envy was out of hearing distance. "Wouldn't hurt the boy, indeed. Lying bully --"

"I'm not so sure," Hughes said thoughtfully.

"What, you don't think he's telling the truth?" Roy protested. "You saw the bruise Edward has --"

"I saw," Hughes agreed. "But all the same . . . I'm rather given to believe that he meant what he said. There's a certain type that are like that, you know? All smug and giving you answers that are true enough, but mean quite a different thing. Smug because they're so pleased by their own cleverness . . . I think, Roy, that we shall have to keep an eye on him."

Roy nodded. No argument there.

--oOo--

The night passed without interest, but that was not to say the morning did. When Roy was ushered into the morning room by the housemaid, Lila, it was to find Hughes, leafing through The Times, and sipping a cup of tea.

"You've missed the rush completely," his friend informed him. "Everyone else in this household has been up for hours."

Roy snorted and helped himself to the tea. "In polite society, no one rises before ten. Such early activity is unnatural."

"The early bird catches the worm," Hughes smirked. "As it is, I've made plans." He counted them off on his fingers. "Lady Dante has agreed to show me the surrounding countryside, and I'll accompany her on her morning constitutional -- a good opportunity to find out what she really thinks of the darling boys and their dearly departed mother. Then, after lunch, the boys are going to show me the wreck that they're working on, and I'm hoping to get Edward to warm to me a bit. Late afternoon, Holmenheim has kindly consented to give me a tour of his laboratory, and if all goes well --"

"Sounds like hell," Roy said sourly. He was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a morning person. "Look, Maes, we have a problem." He looked around to check that the housemaid wasn't present then leaned across the table. "My airgun was taken out of my room."

His friend was astonished. "What -- you mean --"

"Someone's taken it."

"And the revolver?"

Roy opened his jacket just slightly so that the holster was visible. "I'm not letting it out of my sight."

Hughes nodded. "Very wise. This doesn't bode well, old chap. How did it happen anyway? You're so careful."

"First thing I did when I unpacked was to put it safely out of sight in the closet. I don't see how it could have happened. I didn't notice anything was amiss until I went to oil it this morning --"

"Alphonse!" Hughes said. "He was in your closet last night -- it would be pretty hard to miss. I'll have a word with him about it. If he didn't see it, then it's a pretty sure bet that it wasn't there which means the only people who could have taken it were those that weren't at dinner --"

"The staff," Roy said slowly. "And what if Alphonse did see it?"

"Do I have to do all your thinking for you? If Alphonse did see it then whoever took it must have entered your room while you slept."

Roy shivered. That thought did not rest easily with him. "And what if Alphonse took it?"

"I really doubt a child like that could smuggle your air gun out of the room under both our noses, old boy." Hughes shrugged. "Now, until we know more let's keep this matter to ourselves."

Roy nodded grimly. "Anything of yours missing?"

"No. Well -- you know, I might go and check."

The kitchen door swung open to admit the woman they'd encountered in the corridor the previous night. The bathrobe and frills had been replaced by a serviceable full length apron and a plain brown dress, and she wore a white cap attached to her thick ponytail. For all that, she did not look anything like a maid. Roy found himself wondering at the complete lack of servitude in her manner as she thunked a heavy tray down onto the table and announced "Breakfast."

Some people were never intended to have a career as a domestic servant.

"Well, old boy I'll see you later." Hughes thumped him on the back, leaning in to whisper "Work your magic, Romeo." He waggled his eyebrows encouragingly.

Roy wished there wasn't a lady present; he could have quite happily shot Hughes at that point. "Rot in hell."

"Pip pip." Hughes waved goodbye cheerfully, sailing out the door. Roy sent a dark look after him, before turning to study his assignment. He got a rather unpleasant shock.

Mrs. Curtis was studying him just as intently and with all the hostility of a militant nation. "You're a late riser, Colonel Roy Mustang."

"So I've been told," Roy said, with what he hoped was a charmingly boyish shrug. "It's only one of my many bad habits."

"You're a bachelor?" From her tone, it was clear that fact only accounted for everything. "You need a good woman to put you into shape."

"You're offering?" Roy asked, somewhat dazed by the turn of the conversation.

She snorted. "Hardly. I'm a happily married woman."

Happily married? Wait -- to the giant? Roy's brain launched an immediate protest. That couldn't be right! The giant was well -- a giant -- and this woman was only slightly shorter than Roy himself. How on earth did they --

On second thought, there were some mysteries never meant to be solved.

"Your breakfast is getting cold."

"My apologies." Roy hastily reached for the breakfast tray, somehow feeling like he was five years old. "This is a far cry from the kipper and toast I'm used to," he joked, starting on the scrambled eggs. His plate was piled high with ham, sausage, egg, fried tomatoes -- it went on.

"The professor is a firm believer in a stout German breakfast," the cook explained. "Good thing too. I don't hold truck with the English rot you lot call food. Absolutely nothing to it."

Roy saw an opportunity. "You're from the continent then? What part?"

"None of your business."

Well that was an over reaction. "I hope I did not offend," Roy said carefully. "It was not my intention to pry --"

"I have grave difficulty believing that," Mrs. Curtis observed. "All you and your friend have done since you arrived in this house has been to ask questions. What is your purpose?"

"I hardly think that's a polite question," Roy was alarmed. "You're awfully impertinent for a Cook."

"And you're awfully cagey for a guest with nothing to hide," Mrs. Curtis folded her arms. "If you don't want me to let Holmenheim know about the gun you're carrying in your jacket now, you had better answer my question."

Roy loathed strong-willed women.

"If you must know," he admitted reluctantly. "Hughes has some foolish notion that he can solve a murder that may or may not have happened three years ago and he's dragged me into this mess so that he can have someone to amaze and provide applause."

"A murder?" Clearly that wasn't what this stern woman was expecting. "You mean you're not -- well," she said briskly, standing. "I imagine that this would be the late Mrs. Elric's death you're investigating then?"

Roy nodded. "You guess rightly. Tell me, is it that likely to have been murder?"

"Hers is the only violent death that took place in this community, and it took place three years ago. It wasn't hard to guess that was what you meant."

"Touche," Roy admitted.

"I had considered the possibility of foul play," the housekeeper admitted practically. "But only in passing -- she died a year before my husband and I took our posts here, so there was never any chance to confirm or deny the fact. All the same -- I'd be careful in your investigation. There are many secrets in this house."

"You're the second person to have said that," Roy said. "What exactly do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. There are so many secrets in this house it's not a question of finding out who's guilty -- it's working out which person had the motive strong enough to overcome their morals." Mrs. Curtis leaned back, counting off on her fingers in a very business like manner. "Tucker's been on the brink of financial ruin for years -- he's struggling to pay off his debtors even with the generous salary the Professor gives him. Shezcka's a thoroughly English girl, but her brother is a Polish patriot who's been missing since taking part in a protest in Russia two years ago. Either of them could be easily influenced."

"I see. And if Mrs Elric suspected they had interfered with her husband's research whether through blackmail or bribery . . ."

"Exactly." Mrs Curtis's dark eyes glittered. "Then there is the Professor's circumstances."

"Dante and Envy?"

"Ah, so you noticed that. No. The Professor's sordid affairs are out of my line of work. I mean his research. It's not common knowledge but Holmenheim had to leave Germany under very urgent circumstances. He was extradited from France, and only allowed into England on the condition that he make his research open to the English government -- and the English government alone."

"You certainly know a lot about the affairs of this household."

"I'm a housekeeper, it's my business to know them."

"True, though I hardly think that this level of detail is necessary. But then again -- you are hardly what I'd call an ordinary house-keeper." Roy leaned over the table to face Izumi squarely. "I notice that though vocal on the secrets of the other members of this household you have yet to tell me anything about yourself and your equally extraodinary husband."

She smiled. "That, Colonel Roy Mustang, is for me to know -- and for you and your friend to try and find out."

Not an entirely unexpected answer, but her smile was as strong as he words and Roy found himself somewhat intrigued. "At least tell us where you were at the time of the murder?"

"My secrets have no bearing on that matter. You forget, Trisha died before my husband and I even came to this place. When the murder took place I rather imagine that the two of us were vacationing in the south of France." She gave him an ironic bow. "Now, if you're quite done with your interrogation I'd like to start the washing up."

Roy let her go. Conversation with Mrs Curtis was rather like going one on one in a boxing ring. He needed some time to recover.

"Ah, the famous Mustang charm," Hughes purred, sliding open the adjoining door to the drawing room. "You never fail to produce the goods, my friend."

Roy was pleased that he managed to keep himself from displaying shock at Hughes's sudden appearance. "I thought that went rather poorly, myself."

"On the contrary, we now know some very important facts, foremost of which is the housekeeper herself. She gave away far more about herself than she intended to." Hughes sounded very self-satisfied indeed as he leaned against the table beside Roy.

"Like the fact that she is even scarier than her monstrous husband?"

"That she is a woman of no ordinary intellect," his friend said. "She's wasted in the position of a housekeeper. Whatever her business in this house is, you can bet that she isn't in it for the job."

"And what news did your little expedition bring?" Roy turned back to his breakfast and set to work finishing it. He had the feeling he could do with the strength to get through what promised to be a torturous day.

Hughes's tone was unexpectedly serious. "My pistol's gone, and so have my knives. All I've got left is my shaving razor."

Roy whistled. "So that means--"

"Someone deliberately went through our rooms last night."

"We should --"

Hughes put a hand up. "Not a word to anyone, old boy. Trust me on this. I suspect --"

Lady Dante opened the door, clad in her walking dress. "Ah, Brigadier. There you are. Are you ready for our expedition?"

"As ready as I will ever be," Hughes thumped Roy's arm leaning in to whisper 'Not a word!' before going to offer his arm to Lady Dante.

"Nothing like a nice brisk tramp to start the day," Dante approved. "You won't join us, Mustang?"

"I must decline," Roy said. "I'll see you later."

"Your loss." Lady Dante dismissed him, leading Hughes towards the garden. "Did you see the article in yesterday's Times about the state of public education? Most distressing I thought --"

As the Lady's tones finally faded into the distrance, Roy breathed out a fervent sigh of relief. At last he could relax. He sipped the tea in front of him, grimacing as he realised that it had become cold. With all the interruptions his breakfast had undergone that was no surprise.

The door opened again, and the maid, Lila, entered. Her uniform was crisp and unlike Mrs Curtis she looked very becoming in it. A quiet girl, with large eyes, a rather delicate face somewhat like a gothic heroine of popular fiction, and now that she wasn't being overshadowed by her alarming Mistress, Roy realised she was actually pretty.

"Good morning," Roy greeted her. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

She smiled. "I couldn't help but notice that you've spent rather a long time on your breakfast." She leaned over the table, giving Roy an interesting view of a rather ample bosom. "I'd be perfectly happy to heat things up for you . . . if you want."

--oOo--

The linen closet was certainly not the first place Roy would have chosen for a rendez-vous, but time in the army had accustomed him to making do with what was at hand. If the closeness of the closet restricted more, ahem, interesting activities, that just meant more time was spent on simpler matters. Roy was a firm believer that you should at least know the woman's name before you kissed her; Miss Lila White was from London, and was a most proficient kisser.

"That's the 11 o'clock bell," Lila said as a clock sounded further down the hall way. "I've got to get to the kitchen."

"A pity," Roy reluctantly let her go. "I was enjoying this interlude immensely."

"As was I," Lila gave him a sharp smile. Her mouth didn't quite fit the fineness of the rest of her face. It was just a touch too wide, too pointed. "It makes a real difference to have a red-blooded man in the house, I must say."

"You flatter me," Roy helped her straighten her collar. "I'm an old man compared to your tender years. Mister Envy on the other hand is handsome and of your years --"

Lila's laugh was hearteningly natural. "Mr. Envy? I rather think not."

"Not your type?"

"Oh, he's certainly good-looking."

"Only good-looking?" Roy held the door open for her and she ducked under his arm with a smile. "I've seen the effect that Renaissance angel type has on women." And Envy would not be out of place amidst a Botticelli or Last Supper scene -- Roy had to admit that no small part of his dislike for the young man stemmed from the fact that he was very attractive.

"Well, very good looking then. But all the same -- he thinks too much of himself, in my opinion." Lila's dislike was clear. "And he's cheap. Very quick with a nice word or two when he wants something, but in a pinch? He'd just as soon as laugh in your face and slam the door." Her lip curled. "He and his mother both -- they're not real gentry. They have the money, but they have no class -- and I'm not even sure they have the money any more."

Interesting. This torrent of venom had been building a while. Roy thought he could detect a familiar trace amongst the bitterness._ Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned--_

"You'd certainly be in a position to know," he said smoothly. "An intelligent young woman like yourself would pick up a lot."

Lila was evidently receptive to flattery. Or perhaps she just wanted the chance to vent about her employers. "You wouldn't believe half of what I could tell you about Dante and her brat. All her modern speeches and revolutionary actions? Her attempt to justify her own selfish actions. She can't have Holmenheim because he's married? She rejects Christian principles and demounces the church as reactionary. Please." Lila snorted. "The real reason she left London society was that people were starting to notice that her brave new theories coincided remarkably with her own selfish wishes."

"I have to admit a certain lack of surprise."

"I thought you were a man of some intellect."

Roy was not entirely certain he'd been complimented. "You were Dante's maid before you came here, weren't you?"

"Convenient, that, don't you think? She fires all the staff and then convinces Holmenheim to hire me because god forbid she waits on herself. I do the same job as before only this time the Professor foots the bill."

"How did she manage that?"

"Well, you can't say that she's not persistent. I think the Professor decided that paying my wages would be less painful than putting up with her complaints. In fact, my salary is slightly higher now -- and it's paid regularly, which is more than I could say for the High and Mighty Lady."

"Indeed." Roy glanced at the clock in the hall. "I should let you go -- I wouldn't want to cause trouble for you with Mrs. Curtis."

"She's a regular tyrant isn't she? Still, she and her husband were the only ones to withstand Lady Dante. Oh, her ladyship was not pleased about that." Lila's grin was wide with venom. "I'd put up with any amount of bossiness from Mrs. Curtis just for the look Dante gets on her face whenever she's around. She hates being defied."

"I can imagine that. How did the redoubtable Curtis's survive the exodus?"

Lila shrugged. "I'm not sure exactly. Dante pulled out all the stops, even accused Mrs. Curtis of stealing. Holmenheim just dismissed it and said that he knew Izumi was above such things. That went down real well."

Roy could empathise with her satisfaction. "Still, strange that he would take the word of a domestic servant -- even one as fearsome as Mrs. Curtis -- over a friend he's known many years."

"I think he knew the Curtis's before they came to England. It certainly seems like they have some sort of connection."

"Surely not --"

"Oh, no fear of that!" Lila laughed. "Holmenheim is . . . well, if it wasn't for his superfluity of sons, you'd think the man was entirely sexless. It amazes me that he managed to get a wife at all -- then again considering his taste in women . . . and Mrs. Curtis is only too happily married. I'm really glad I got permission to move to a room in the attic, it was getting hard to keep any food down."

"They're still at the nauseatingly cute newly wed-stage?" Roy knew that feeling only too well. "Hughes has been in that for five years now."

"The Curtis's have been married twice that. It's disgusting." Lila shuddered. "Happily married people should keep it to themselves. That's not something the rest of the world wants to see."

Roy was frozen by the thought of another five years of Hughes being cute. God no--

"Ah, I really have go," Lila had spotted the hall clock, anxiously using the glass panel laid over the clock face to check her reflection. She patted her white cap back into place and turned to Roy. "Do I look mussed?"

Roy took her shoulders and pulled her into him before she could protest. He kissed her, lingering pleasantly over her lips before pulling back with a smug grin. "Now you do."

"You army types are all the same," Lila elbowed him without any real malice. "I might see you later."

Roy watched her walk down the hall. She definitely knew how to fill a uniform -- and she knew it too. The way she walked -- she knew he was watching and was putting it on for his benefit. Ah, well -- she was no Josephine, and thank god for that! Too catty for him to even want to consider something long term, but amenable enough in the short term -- Roy turned around to return to his room and got the shock of his life.

A child of eight or so beamed up at him with impossibly large and innocent eyes from the middle of the corridor. She wore a large faded pinafore, with ribbons of matching colour tying off two long braids. How long she had been standing there Roy didn't know.

Battle honed reflexes kicked in. "Ah, hello, Miss. I don't believe we've been introduced." Roy smiled in what he hoped was a charming way and knelt to her level. "What's your name?"

She dimpled at him cutely. "You were kissing Lila. I saw."

Roy's charming smile froze in place.

The little girl took his hand. "Come on. I want to see Alexander and I can't reach the gate by myself."


	5. Roy enjoys a bit of all right

5.

Roy wasn't entirely sure how he found himself in what had once been a stable, but was now home to a large and very enthusiastic English sheepdog - and at the mercy of a schoolgirl, no less. He watched the pair sourly, trying to wipe the dog slobber off his formerly pristine suit - oh, Hughes would be hearing about this.

"Mister," the girl - she'd introduced herself as Nina - said happily, hugging the sheepdog. "Isn't Alexander the nicest dog you ever met?"

"Oh, undoubtedly," Roy glared at the dog, warning it to keep its distance. Alexander gave him a hopeful look in return, mouth lolling open to reveal a long pink tongue. That was the rum thing about dogs, they were always hopeful, always loyal - the perfect subordinate. In spite of himself, Roy bent down to scratch the sheepdog's ears. "Is Alexander your dog?"

"Kind of. I share him with Ed and Al, but we're not really supposed to have him. See, he got into the Professor's study once and did some damage. Mr. Curtis was supposed to shoot him but we smuggled him in here instead. Didn't we, Alexander?" Nina paused to poke the dog and giggled when he snuffled at her. "And Mr. Envy found out and told and there was a big fuss and I cried lots and we were allowed to keep him as long as he stays out of the house."

"So he lives here in the stables?" Roy considered their surroundings.

The building still smelt strongly of hay and here and there a few bales were in evidence. For the most part it had been swept clean. There was another scent mingling with the hay, just as strong - oil and grease and maybe metal.

The open space at the end of the neat row of stalls was mostly taken up by the wreck of a car. A long table with a sheet spread over it stood behind it. Various tools and books were in evidence, littered about the room on every available surface.

"Would this be the boys' workroom?"

"Yes. You're not allowed to touch anything. They get cross if you do." Nina pointed to a mechanical bear sitting on a shelf in the corner. "That's mine. Alphonse is going to fix it when he has time." She paused then, with the air of someone divulging a great secret, confided, " I like Alphonse. I'm going to marry him one day."

"Oh?" Roy found himself amused. "And when did you decide that?"

"At Christmas last year. My scarf blew into a tree and he climbed up to get it down for me."

"A perfect gentleman."

"I think so. Father says I'm being foolish though. I don't see why I can't marry Alphonse if I want."

"Well I suppose social class will come into it -"

"Oh, that's no problem. By the time I'm sixteen, we'll be rich. Father said so. And I can marry whoever I want."

"Your father is sure about that?" Far be it from Roy to bring down a young girl's dreams, but he couldn't help but remember Tucker's shabby attire or notice that Nina's pinafore was faded and patched.

"Oh yes. Long term investments," Nina explained vaguely, patting Alexander. "Be a good doggy, Alexander. I'll come visit after lunch."

Alexander took a lot of getting back into his stable and it was a considerably worse for the wear Roy that arrived back at the house, Nina riding on his shoulders.

"Well, old boy," Hughes drawled as he entered the drawing room. "I can see you've been in the wars."

"Oh dear," Tucker said, fretting as Roy swung Nina down from his back. "I hope she wasn't any trouble - Nina, what did I tell you about bothering the Professor's guests?"

"She was no bother at all," Roy said before the child could get scolded. "I found her company most refreshing." He began to dust off his coat sleeves. "I trust you'll excuse me if I freshen up before lunch."

"By all means," Hughes shrugged. "Believe me, you could do with it."

"Nina, you'd better wash up too." Tucker patted his daughter on the head. "Go upstairs and see if the boys have finished their Latin. Tell them it's about time to come downstairs."

"Can I eat downstairs too?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Tucker shooed his small daughter out the door. "Lila will take a tray up for you."

Nina pouted, trailing out the door reluctantly.

"Usually we eat lunch with the boys in the school room," Tucker explained, taking off his glasses to polish them. "The professor and his staff take lunch in the laboratory and rarely join us, Lady Dante finds it tiring to lunch with the children and usually has a tray in her rooms."

"I hope we're not creating too much of a fuss," Hughes said. "The last thing we want is to be a bother to anyone."

"Oh, not at all," Tucker protested. "A change in routine is appreciated. It's just a shame that Doctor Marcoh isn't here to keep you better company than I." His eyes were curiously flat, without almost any animation at all. He was a curious sort of chap, hardly any sign of personality or backbone. Roy wasn't sure what to make of him.

He nodded to Tucker and Hughes. "I'll be on my way then. See you at lunch."

Roy met Edward and Alphonse on their way downstairs. "Good day," he greeted them, eyeing Edward interestedly. His colour had returned and the the boy did not appear affected for the worse by the previous evening's episode -- whatever that had been. He nodded politely to Roy but didn't break the conversation he was having with his brother. "You can say what you like about German precision, Al, but the Italian aviators clearly have the edge --"

"You're not listening!" Alphonse argued. "Good day, Colonel Mustang. When you consider the cost of building the place and the wages of those involved and add that to the equation --"

"That doesn't sound like a very patriotic discussion," Roy commented as they drew close. "Or have you two forgotten? Those flying fascists came damnably near to wiping us out."

The brothers exchanged a look. "A military man would certainly consider the matter in that light," Edward admitted. "But in science only the facts remain. When you disregard the relative pluck of the individual pilots, which admittedly is highly subjective and unable to be measured exactly, you're left with only one conclusion; that the construction of British airplanes is distinctly inferior to those on the continent."

"Steady on," Roy protested. "Isn't that a bit harsh?"

"Science is science," Alphonse said with the simplicity of someone who believes utterly in what he says. "And in science there are no borders, no ties of affection, no assumptions that haven't been tested; only reason and reason alone. It's like what Sophocles said. "The only thing I know is that I know nothing."'

"No, it's not, you egg." Edward said, nudging his brother down the stairs. "It was Socrates, and what he meant was --"

Roy had no interest in whatever whoever it was had said. He continued up the stairs to his room.

The bed had been made and his laundry removed. Although lacking in the homelieness usually expected of a housekeeper, it appeared that Mrs Curtis fulfilled her duties capably. Even so, Roy was forced to wonder again, as he changed out off his soiled morning suit just how she and her equally unlikely husband had found their way into Holmenheim's employ.

Freshly attired, Roy heard the lunch bell ring and returned downstairs. He met Lady Dante at the top of the stairs.

"I'm surprised," he said, offering her his hand as they descended the stairs together. "I was given to understand that you preferred to lunch alone."

"That is my usual habit," Dante agreed. "My opinion is sought by so many in London -- I'm on a lot of committees, you know, active in my own small way in the area of social reform. If I didn't write letters and articles while I lunched, I just wouldn't have the time. As it is, between managing Holmenheim and taking care of my son, I barely have a moment to myself."

My heart bleeds, Roy thought acidly. "It is good of you to put yourself out on our behalf. We appreciate it," he lied.

"Well someone has to be present to keep the boys in order," Dante said as they reached the dining room. "Tucker is much too lax with them. He doesn't seem to realise that you must take a firm hand with children or they'll end up controlling you."

"How was your walk?" Roy asked before Dante could get started on her favourite subject.

"Very bracing. You should have come. The Brigadier was kind enough to say that he found my remarks most informative."

"Did he now?" Roy caught his friend's smirk as he entered the dining room. Seemed that Hughes had found the Lady's remarks more informative than she might have wished - he was a master at deduction and knew how to read people.

Fortunately, Dante had no suspicion of Hughes's true intentions. "You know, I have literature on a wide range of social issues -"

"I'll pass," Roy said hastily, drawing Dante's chair for her. "What's on the menu today?"

The first course was broccoli and stilton soup, accompanied by fresh bread and a light salad, and served by a glowering Curtis. It was first-rate grub, but Roy found it difficult to appreciate the meal with the butler lurking in the background. It was rather like what he imagined dinner with one's executioner might be like.

It appeared he was the only member of the party with misgivings. Hughes had seated himself between Alphonse and Edward and was engaging the two brothers in lively conversation - or at least attempting to. While Aphonse had happily warmed to the topic, and was eagerly answering Hughes's questions, Edward was rather less sanguine. He answered politely, but with the bare minimum of information, and refused to be drawn into elaborating on his ideas. Roy caught the boy frowning in his direction more than once during the meal. Evidently, their intrusion into the Elric household was no more welcome that morning.

Lady Dante appeared to be in an unusually good humour. Rather than scolding the boys, she merely ignored them. Tucker was content to melt into the background, as Dante addressed her remarks solely to Hughes and Roy.

Lunch might have passed smoothly had it not been for a sudden arrival.

"Is that the car?" Edward demanded suddenly, straightening in his chair to listen intently.

His brother immediately hushed. "I think so -"

The sound of an engine pulling up outside was now readily apparent.

Roy glanced at the boys. They both seemed tense with barely contained excitement. What was all this in aid of?

"Boys, you will stay seated," Lady Dante said with a theatrical sigh as Curtis went to the front door. Her manner clearly said 'Children! How wearisome.' Roy didn't pay her more than a moment's attention. He was curious as to what the big event could be.

Curtis' voice could be heard in the hall, an indistinct murmur. Then a very familiar voice was heard.

'-already eaten but I'd like to catch up with my godsons -"

"Marcoh!" Alphonse and Edward pronounced in unison, scrambling for the door.

"Boys! What did I just tell you?"

Dante's remonstration was as effective as scolding a hurricane - and the effect was the same. Alphonse had dropped his soup spoon, and Edward's chair might have toppled over if Hughes hadn't had the foresight to catch it. The brothers struggled to be first out the door. Edward eventually managed this honour, catching his brother in the stomach and making his way out the door while Alphonse protested, following hard on his heels.

"Brother, that was mean!"

"Well," Hughes said.

Roy shook his head. "That's the first time I've seen either of them acting like regular boys."

"More like hooligans!" Dante glared at Tucker. "I've told you again and again that you are far too lax with them. I insist you go out there and restrain them immediately, Mr. Tucker."

"No need, Lady Dante," Hughes stood, nodding at Roy to follow his example. "We want to pay our respects to Marcoh, we'll make sure the boys are kept in line."

Marcoh had not managed to progress any further than the entrance hall. Edward and Alphonse were talking over the top of each other, greeting Marcoh or strangling him; it was hard to tell. Either way they were doing a very effective job.

"Boys, boys!" Marcoh said, eventually freeing himself. "Stand back and let me look at you."

The boys obeyed, and Roy and Hughes were able to get a clear view of their friend.

Roy's first reaction was shock. Surely it had not been that long since he'd seen Marcoh? He looked like he'd aged a decade or so. His face was lined and there were grey streaks through his hair -

"Edward! Just look at you - so grown up! You're really taking after your father. And Alphonse, you've really gotten taller!" Marcoh patted the boys' shoulders with an almost grandfatherly air. "My word - what happened to your hair? Don't tell me your Father let you cut it."

That was something Roy had been curious about too. Given Holmenheim's insistence on his native customs, it seemed reasonable to suppose that the long hair style worn by Edward, Envy and the Professor himself was a tribute to their German heritage. That Alphonse should be the only member of the family with short hair was surprising to say the least.

The boys' reactions were interesting. Alphonse glanced at his brother, Edward looked very studiously at the floor.

"Father didn't exactly give permission,"Alphonse admitted.

"But -- surely, you didn't--"

"It was me," Edward said. He set his shoulders, and looked up at Marcoh squarely. "I cut Alphonse's hair."

"You?" Marcoh sounded astonished.

Alphonse nodded. "Scared me half to death, too." He gave his brother a faintly reproachful look. "You could have asked you know."

Edward looked worriedly at him. "Are you still mad?"

His brother shook his head earnestly. "I said I forgave you, didn't I? Anyway, Father was angry enough for the both of us."

"Edward, I'm disappointed. This isn't like you," Marcoh said solemnly, and both boys immediately quietened. The doctor's words obviously meant much to them. "However, as it appears you've been scolded already and Alphonse has forgiven you, I won't add my complaints. I will however say that short hair suits you very well, Alphonse. You look very dashing."

Alphonse glowed. Edward smiled faintly, but there was a hint of sadness to it, that struck Roy once again as very out of place on someone so young.

"I like it. It takes hardly any time to brush now and it's a lot more practical for the machinery and everything. Of course, I miss the way Father used to say it reminded him of Mother --" Alphonse paused reflecting on that.

Marcoh suddenly pulled both boys into a hug. "Boys," he said, voice rough. "I've missed you."

"You shouldn't stay away so long." Was that really Edward's voice? Roy had never heard him sound so young. He had his face buried in Marcoh's shoulder, maybe Roy had imagined it --

Hughes coughed lightly, and Marcoh released the boys, letting his hands rest instead on their shoulders, Edward on one side of him, Alphonse on the other. The three of them didn't look anything alike in colouring or build, but somehow . . . they seemed more like family than anything Roy had so far seen in this house.

"Roy," Marcoh said with a smile that was sincere, but worried. "It's been a while."

"Far too long, old chap," Roy told him honestly. "What have you been doing with yourself?"

"Oh, bits and pieces. I've kept myself busy," Marcoh answered. "As you have been, I hear. I was sorry to learn about your latest girl --"

The thought of Jospephine was bitter still. "Least said, soonest mended, old chap," Roy said, taking Marcoh's hand in a firm handshake. "Hughes was kind enough to suggest this jaunt as a distraction."

"I rather fancy things will get a good deal more distracting soon," Marcoh said, his face grave. "I have news from London." He looked over to where Hughes leaned against the bannister at the bottom of the stairs. "You were right, Maes. Everything was exactly as you said."

"Tough luck, old bean," Hughes said, coming over to clap Marcoh's shoulder. "I rather hoped I was mistaken but --"

"What's this about?" Alphonse asked. "Did something happen?"

Marcoh patted his head, his smile sad. "You'll find out about it soon enough, I imagine, boys. Edward, would you do me a favour? Tell your Father I need to speak with him at his earliest convenience."

Edward gave the three of them a speculative glance, but nodded. "Curtis, I think the study would be appropriate . . . ?"

The butler nodded, and Marcoh clapped Edward on the shoulder. "Thank you, Ed. We'll talk this evening."

Edward bowed briefly to him, walking in the direction of the laboratory.

Marcoh frowned as he watched him go. "Been looking after your brother, Al?"

"Yes. I did everything you said."

"Good chap. How's he been?"

"Not good. There's been three, counting last night."

"I don't like that," Marcoh said, patting Alphonse's shoulder. "The old dragon still here?"

"She's having lunch," Alphonse said resentfully as if this was the worst thing she could be doing. "She's sitting in Mother's chair."

"Chin up, lad. I'll see if I can't persuade your Father to let the two of you stay with me in London for a bit."

To Alphonse this was clearly a treat on the scale of Christmas. "Stay with you -- could we really?"

"It's up to your father, of course. Run along and finish your lunch, Al. Give Dante my regards and explain I must talk to Holmenheim immediately."

The boy was clearly unenthused as this prospect. "Do I have to?"

"You need to finish your lunch." Marcoh reminded him. "A growing boy like you needs to keep his strength up. Besides, there just might be something in my luggage for you."

"You brought us presents?" Alphonse cheered up immediately.

"Only if you're good."

The boy reluctantly returned to the drawing room.

"What do you make of my godsons?" Marcoh asked, turning to Roy and Hughes with a paternal air of pride. "Likely boys, are they not?"

"Indeed," Roy answered. "They're certainly something."

Hughes agreed. "You have every reason to be proud of them. Alphonse is charm personified and his brother is undoubtedly the most knowledgeable person of his years that I've ever encountered."

Marcoh's expression turned pensive. "I'm worried about Edward. His current behavior -- it's almost a complete reversal of the child I knew three years ago. Things have been difficult for him, it's true -- but the more time I spend here the more certain I become that there is something at the bottom of this."

"I won't say you're wrong there," Hughes said. "Shall we take this conversation to the study?"

Curtis was just unlocking the door as they approached. "It's the Professor's custom to keep this door locked at all times," he explained. "Since Doctor Marcoh is with you, I'm sure he won't mind if you wait for him here -- but touch nothing."

Where had he heard that admonition recently? Roy wondered, taking one half of a velvet upholstered sofa as they waited. Ah, yes, the stables. Like father, like sons indeed.Holmenheim's study was a far cry from the boy's workbench at first glance, but on closer inspection there were similarities. There was no hay, but the room smelt strongly of ink and paper, and there was a certain similarity between the books laid out half open and in piles, with pages of notes scattered about them, to the disarray of the boy's tools and books. There was a further difference to the room, and Roy struggled to put his finger on just what it might be.

An empty winebottle with a glass next to it stood on a side table with a half eaten sandwich, surrounded by books and papers. There was a collection of tea cups in a corner, almost buried under a stack of newspapers, and an ash tray, full to overflowing. That was it, Roy smiled, as he solved the puzzle. That was it; and that was what was missing in every other room in this house. The study had the feel of being a room that was actually lived in --

"Gentlemen," Holmenheim greeted them, shutting the door behind him. "Marcoh. I hope your journey was pleasant?"

"If only my errand were so," Marcoh said. "Holmenheim, old chap, I think you'd better sit down."

The professor's smile of greeting turning to an expression of apprehension and he took Marcoh's advice. "Bad news? But -- the experiments were going so well last time we talked --"

"Holmenheim." Marcoh took a deep breath, clearly bracing himself to give new obviously as painful to himself as to his audience. "Our reasearch, our theories our results -- there's a laboratory in Vienna doing the exact same thing."

"A competitor? I didn't expect the Austrians to be interested, but surely that's --"

"You don't understand. They're using our methods. Ours. There's no mistake about it."

"Our methods?" Holmenheim looked about as bewildered as Roy felt. "But that would mean --"

"You have a leak," Hughes said. He had seated himself casually on the edge of Holmenheim's desk. "About two weeks ago a foreign agent was picked up under a fake passport. He was carrying on him papers of a scientific nature, that although obviously important, were unrecognisable. The work you lot are doing is so hush hush, even we don't know about it -- It was pure luck that I happened to think of running it by Marcoh --"

Pure luck? Roy thought acidly, folding his arms. Hughes had told him that he had taken up a minor secretarial position with an old army friend, in order to cover the costs of suddenly becoming a family of three. He certainly hadn't mentioned anything involving foreign agents -- although Roy had a sudden suspicion why.

"You can imagine how I felt when Hughes handed me notes in what I knew was your handwriting and informed me they'd been found on a spy!" Marcoh paused, bitterly. "How dare they -- we've put so much time and effort into this and to have it stolen from under our noses --" He shook his head. "At any rate, once we were aware of the possible link between our reasearch and the labratory in Vienna, Hughes arranged for me to see the infomation they'd already collected on it --" He shook his head in bewilderment. "They've been using our methods, and obviously for some time now."

"The laboratory started a little under three years ago," Hughes added softly. "A few months after a small fire in which you lost a lot of notebooks and research materials."

"But that was clearly an accident," Holmenheim protested. He was coping with the shock well, marshalling himself to put up a good defence -- which meant he'd come to the same conclusion the other's had and was trying to convince himself otherwise. "The books were destroyed, a good part of the laboratory as well -- I'm sure that no one on my staff would have --"

Marcoh drew a bundle of papers out from his jacket and handed them to Holmenheim. To Roy, they appeared like nothing so much as an incomprehensible mess of formulas, but they obviously had greater significance to Holmenheim. He had paled, glancing through the papers quickly, then flinging them away from himself roughly. "They're mine," he admitted, dragging a head across his forehead. "God -- that it would come to this. Betrayed by one of my own household."

"There's no possibility of it being an outside job?" Roy felt he had to make some contribution to the conversation. If Hughes thought he was going to just sit there and be amazed at the currently unfolding events -- and his friend would really be hearing about this later -- he was gravely mistaken. "The laboratory in London that Marcoh's been overseeing -- isn't that a possibility?"

Marcoh shook his head. "We've been over every aspect of the security there. It's impossible. Besides --"

Holmenheim laughed. It was by no means a happy sound. "These notes could only have come from here. We found the dog in the study, the tattered remains of the notebook around him -- it was only too clear what had happened. And now here they are, safe and sound." The acid tone to his voice indicated just how happy he was at this development. "Well, at least the boys will be happy that their bloody pet can come back in the house now."

"I don't think it wise to inform the boys -- or anyone -- just yet," Hughes said. "In fact, I would strongly advise against it."

There was something in his tone of command, something of authority, that Roy recognised, and that made Holmenheim sit up with narrowed eyes.

"This is peacetime," he said sharply. "Although you still have your military title, you'll need more of a reason that that to give orders, Brigadier."

"Hughes is acting in His Majesty's service," Marcoh said softly. "I've seen his credentials and I know him well --"

"Meaning it is in my best interests to do everything you say," Holmenheim's tone was bitter. "And the Colonel?"

Good question, Roy thought, raising an eyebrow. Yes, and the Colonel?

"Mustang is here in the capacity of a private individual," Hughes said without even having the grace to look embarrassed. "He is under no orders or restrictions and is, as such, free to pursue any course of action he sees fit, while his experience and standing as a Colonel give him, shall we say, more leeway than most of His Majesty's citizens." He smiled crookedly. "I'm sure his assistance will be of great use in the matter at hand."

Roy eyed his friend sourly. If Hughes thought a half-hearted compliment was going to make up for being dragged down to Lincolnshire under false pretences --

Holmenheim appeared equally unimpressed. "I see. Well then, as I seem to have no choice in the manner, what can I do for you gentlemen?"

"We need you to think back and see if you can remember anything odd, in say, the period since the house fire until now. Any instances of say, your research being tampered with, like the incident with the dog."

Holmenheim shook his head. "Not off hand. While we're working in the laboratory, Shezcka has the notebooks with her -- she does most of the recording and note taking during the experiments. I collect the books from her, to collate and read over before I retire and I keep them here. The only people with keys to this room are myself and Mrs. Curtis."

"Interesting that she should be the only other person with acess to this room," Hughes said idly.

"She's not."

"But you said --"

"We have the keys, but you don't need a key even if the door is locked. Edward has managed to get in here on more than one occasion. I'm always finding books out of place and --" Holmenheim paused. "Or I assumed that it was Edward having caught him at it once already."

"That's the sort of assumption we can't afford to make," Hughes said. "What does Edward say about it?"

"That's just it," Holmenheim said, thoughtfully. "I've spoken to him about this numerous times . . . At first he would argue with me hotly and deny he'd been in here at all, but lately . . . well, lately he just doesn't say anything." Holmenheim frowned. "I'd thought that he was finally growing out of childish tantrums but --"

"It's not like Edward to lie," Marcoh said. "I'll have a word with him later, if you like."

Holmenheim nodded. "Anything else?"

"Just how acessible are your notes to say, the average person?" Hughes asked. "Without going into too much technical detail, say, would it be possible for someone who knew nothing to copy the notes or would understanding be needed --"

"Merely copying would be impossible," the Professor said promptly. "You'd need to have an in-depth knowledge of the procedures used and atomic science to be able to work out the abbreviations --"

"And even then you'd have problems," Marcoh added. "I struggle, sometimes, with the Professor's notes and I'm his partner."

"I suppose that explains why the notes were stolen then, when they could have been copied more discreetly?" Roy suggested.

"Not necessarily, old man," Hughes shook his head. "It's highly likely that the notes were stolen for reasons of sabotage as for their worth. After all, wouldn't it be a setback for the project if the notes were gone?"

"It would have set us back months," Holmenheim said. "If not for Shezchka's memory."

Hughes nodded. "Shezchka, you say?"

"She's got what is termed a 'picture-perfect' memory -- for text only," Marcoh explained. "You can imagine she makes a first rate researcher. Unfortunately, she just doesn't have the drive, the natural curiousity to go ahead with it. She'll never really make a scientist."

But could she make a thief? Roy saw Hughes's eyes on him and nodded; this was his assignment.

"And what of Mr. Envy?" Hughes asked. "Does he have the technical understanding necessary?"

"Envy is completely out of the question," Holmenheim said promptly.

That was a very strong response. "What makes you so sure?" Roy asked carefully. "We can understand a father's feelings --"

Holmenheim laughed, the edge of bitterness back in his voice. "Oh, it's not fatherly pride that makes me so certain that Envy could not have done this so much as fatherly disappointment. I suppose that every father wants his sons to take after him, and I've given him every opportunity I could. But if I must be clear, I'll state that although an adequate secretary, Envy will never follow in my footsteps. The work we do is quite beyond him."

"Which brings us then to Mrs. Curtis," Hughes continued after a short pause of respect for Holmenheim's fatherly feelings. "How exactly did she and her husband find employment with you?"

"They're old friends," the Professor explained. "Izumi was in England and she looked me up. She was having trouble finding a position due to her health and well -- I owe her. I offered her and Sieg the position here until such time as something better developed. I didn't expect them to stay quite this long but the countryside is beneficial to Izumi's health, and there is a specialist in London she can visit. It works out satisfactorily for all of us."

"Very convenient that."

Holmenheim snorted. "If you think Izumi would sell my research to a foregn agent, you're gravely mistaken. She would sooner destroy my work and everything connected with it then see it in another's hands."

Roy sat up a little straighter. "You sound very sure about that."

The Professor smiled the thin, bitter smile. "I have every reason to be. She was my research partner in Frankfurt. I know her well, I know what she's capable of. Believe me, gentlemen, Izumi Curtis would have no need to take my notes -- she's more than capable of recreating them on her own."

Hughes nodded. "That explains a lot that I've wondered about. And her husband?"

"Sieg is not an intellectual by any stretch of the imagination."

"I didn't think so." Hughes nodded, as if this all agreed with a plan he had worked out in his mind. "So, you'd say that in this household, only yourself, Marcoh and Mrs. Curtis are capable of understanding and developing this research."

"Yes. Well--"

"Well?"

"There may be one other." Holmenheim frowned. "I suspect Edward knows far more about this project then I want him too."

Edward? Roy raised an eyebrow at Hughes. Everything in this household seemed to come back to that one boy --

"Marcoh, can you tell the others that I will not be continuing with the work this afternoon? I don't think I could manage -- not after this."

"I understand perfectly old man," Marcoh patted Holmenheim's shoulder in passing, looking to Hughes and Roy. "You'll want some time to think this over."

Hughes took the hint, sliding off the desk and standing. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of such bad news," he said. "But we'll have this matter cleared up as soon as we can."

Holmenheim nodded absently. Roy wondered if he'd heard the words at all. Clearly this was a great blow to him. Roy added his own goodbyes, and followed Marcoh and Hughes into the corridor.

"I don't know what I'd do if you two weren't here," Marcoh said, as the door shut behind him. "I must confess, my reaction is similar to Holmenheim's. I simply can't believe that a member of this household would be capable of this . . ."

"Chin up," Hughes said. "That's why you have me at your service. I'll make short work of this problem, you'll see." He added as an afterthought. "And Roy, of course, will help too."

Oh, would Roy? He was very glad that Hughes had let him in on that; he simply didn't know what he'd do without Hughes to inform him of such facts.

"I'd better pass the message on," Marcoh said. "I'll see you two later." He nodded, setting off down the corridor to the laboratory.

"I'm glad he's here," Hughes said. "Rather mucks up my plans for the afternoon, but I think that what we learned from Holmenheim more than makes up for it. What do you think, old chap?"

Roy just glared at him.

Hughes held up his hands in a self-depreceating fashion. "Ah, I can see that you'd be a bit miffed that I didn't let you in on everything --"

"Lied to me, you mean. I could be a Lady Wintergreen's society dinner, you know, meeting this season's debutantes --"

"You should be thanking me then," Hughes said. "Lady Wintergreen is Gracia's great Aunt. I've met some of her protoges."

"That's not the point." Roy crossed his arms. "You promised me a murder, not a lot of stinking secret-service mucking about."

"We're counter-espionage now, old man. Same job, but the hours are better."

"You're being annoying on purpose now." Roy accused. "You're my best friend, but that doesn't mean I'll let you get away with this kind of rot."

"Steady on," Hughes protested, sporting a wounded look. "Would I really purposefully mislead you?" At Roy's expression he added hastily, "About important things. Look, there is still in all probability a murder at the heart of this."

"Oh, yes?"

"I think we've solved the mystery of why all the girls go for you, old man. You've put so much of your mental faculties into looking good that there simply isn't any room left for thinking -- you wouldn't punch your best friend, would you Roy?"

"I might if said 'best friend' doesn't elaborate. What makes you think that Trisha's death ties into this missing notes business?"

"The fire in which the first notes were stolen happened a few days before Trisha's death. Do I need to spell it out for you?"

Roy was chagrined to admit that it hadn't occured to him that Trisha's death might be related to the fire. "So you suspect she knew something then? Or saw something to do with that--"

"Careful old chap, you don't want to give yourself a wrinkle or something with all that brainwork." Hughes ducked Roy's grab merrily, escaping unscathed down the hallway. "I'll see you later -- I have some serious sleuthing underway."

Roy snorted, watching him go. "Serious busybodying, you mean."

"Toodle pip!" Hughes waved goodbye to him. "By the way, Roy, I think you've really let your standards slip."

"I beg your pardon?" Roy was flummoxed.

Hughes waggled a finger at him. "Your latest bird -- rather a cut below your usual fare, don't you think? I wouldn't get too attached if I were you. I rather fancy Lila's pretty exterior is vastly superior to the interior."

And before Roy could demand what he meant by that, or even how he knew, Hughes had vanished into the dining room.


End file.
